The King and I
by bluecurls
Summary: They fought on the same side for the same thing, but as the Wizarding World works to right itself after the war, Hermione Granger finds herself in danger yet again. She needs his help. He needs her. A/N: Story on hold as of 1/11/15.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I stumbled across a Kingsley/Hermione oneshot a couple weeks ago (The Marriage Law) and it was so sweet. Since then, I've loved the idea of that pairing. Here's my take.**

**As always, I own nothing related to Harry Potter.**

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><p>"These need your signature, sir."<p>

He didn't look up from the document he was reading, partly because it required his full concentration but also because he did not want to acknowledge the newest pile of paper that demanded his attention. He was a soldier, not a politician. He said it when he was named the interim Minister for Magic, quieting only when Arthur Weasley assured him that he could return to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement after a new Minister was elected.

Arthur hadn't realized how much the Wizarding World admired Kingsley Shacklebolt. He was elected Minister in a historical landslide. When he shared the news with the dark-skinned wizard, Kingsley poured two tumblers of firewhiskey, drinking the first in remembrance of his past and the second in hope for the future. Then he named Arthur Deputy Minister, chuckling when the red-haired man tried to refuse the position. Arthur still submitted a letter of resignation monthly. Kingsley never answered them, but saved every one, thinking they'd be a great retirement gift … someday.

For now, though, retirement was a long way off. The war had taken its toll and he was determined to make the world he fought so hard for, sacrificed so much for, better. Old wounds needed to heal. Trust had to be earned. And, sadly, evil needed to be fought.

More than five months had passed since Harry Potter defeated Voldemort, but not every Death Eater surrendered after the Dark Lord had fallen. Plenty still believed in Voldemort's vision. Tracking and capturing rogue Death Eaters was a top priority for Kingsley. If he couldn't be out there with his fellow aurors, then he would use everything in his power to ensure they had what they needed to rid the world of darkness.

"Kingsley."

He grunted and kept reading. How did anyone expect him to accomplish anything if no one left him alone?

"Kingsley!"

He threw down the paper and glared at the man in front of him. "What?"

"Report from the aurors," Arthur said, handing a file to Kingsley.

Kinglsey took it, flipping through the pages. Threats. Curses. Promises to finish what Voldemort started. They knew this already. Why was Arthur sharing this with him? He turned to the last page and stopped.

"I already contacted the others," Arthur said. "Let's go."

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><p>They gathered at Number 12 Grimmauld Place, the remaining members of the Order of the Phoenix, taking seats at the oversized table in the dining room. There used to be a time that there weren't enough seats to go around. Those who arrived late had to stand, leaning against the wall as assignments were made and strategies plotted. Tonight, though, there were more than enough chairs and each empty seat was a reminder of those who lost their lives fighting for the light.<p>

Kingsley stopped at the chair where Nymphadora Lupin, nee Tonks, used to sit. They had worked together for years, trusting one another with each other's lives. When she fell in love with Remus Lupin, he was overjoyed for his friend and the werewolf. When the couple welcomed their son, he was one of the first people to hold young Teddy. And when both fell in the Battle at Hogwarts, he had cried, mourning their deaths, their son's loss.

Grasping the back of Tonks' chair, Kingsley squeezed it tightly, closing his eyes for a moment. Drawing strength from his memories, he continued to the head of the table, taking the chair that used to be occupied by Albus Dumbledore. Arthur sat to his right, his wife, Molly, next to him. Minerva McGonagall took the seat on his left. Other trickled in – Bill and Fleur Weasley, Hagrid, and Filius Flitwick, Harry, and Ron Weasley. Hermione Granger, he knew, was at Hogwarts; the only one of the so-called Golden Trio who chose to finish her formal education.

"My apologies for dragging you away from your homes so late, my friends, but we just received information that one of our own has been targeted by the remaining Death Eaters," Kingsley told the small group.

"Who?" Minerva McGonagall asked, looking around the room.

"Hermione Granger."

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><p>"Granger!"<p>

Hermione sighed, but slowed her pace. She wasn't in the mood for conversation. It had been a long day, a long week, and all she wanted to do was go to her room, get into bed, and read until she fell asleep. With any luck, she'd actually get some sleep tonight.

"Where are you running off to, Granger?" the blond ask, slightly out of breath as he caught up to her, slinging an arm around her shoulder in an overly familiar gesture that was both comforting and slightly odd. After years of hatred, it was still difficult to wrap her head around that fact that Draco Malfoy was her friend. One of her best friends. "The library is that way."

"Ha, ha," she replied sarcastically, using her elbow to poke him in the side, snickering when he grunted.

"Seriously, where are you off to? I thought we were going to review for Slughorn's class."

Hermione stopped walking. "That was tonight?"

Draco nodded, eyeing the petite witch warily. She never forgot anything, let alone a tutoring session. A whole hour to show someone just how much smarter she was than them? This was what she lived for.

She closed her eyes, sighing again. "I'm sorry, Draco. It slipped my mind."

He shrugged. It wasn't that he needed the help. Hermione, though, needed the focus. Her grades were still the highest in their class, but she often walked through the castle as if she was asleep. Potter had asked Draco to keep an eye on her and owl if anything seemed off. What the hell did he expect? She's spent most of last year on the run, hiding from an evil wizard who wanted to see her killed, only to be captured and tortured for her efforts. Sure, she got away, but then had to fight in a battle that saw many of her friends fall.

_Yeah, Potter, she's fine._

"What's on your mind, Granger?"

She slid to the floor, pulling her knees to her chest. Draco sat next to her, leaning against the cool stone. This wing of the castle was the first to be fixed prior to the school reopening. Looking around, you wouldn't know that a battle was fought here. Draco tried not to think about it most days, preferring to pretend that Hogwarts today - students still separated by houses but choosing to eat together and study together despite that - was the way it's always been. It was the only way he got through the days without going crazy. He imagined Hermione felt the same way.

"Order meeting tonight," she said quietly.

Draco's eyebrows raised in surprise. He knew there were Death Eaters still on the run. His parents were under indefinite house arrest, their every move monitored, while the Ministry worked to gather the stragglers. "I assumed with Shacklebolt in charge, the Ministry was no longer corrupted and there wasn't a need for the Order," he told her.

She smiled slightly. "We are a cautious bunch."

Draco nodded. Constant vigilance. He may have spent most of the war on the wrong side, but Mad-Eye Moody's edict worked for the bad guys, too. Unfortunately.

"McGonagall wouldn't let you go?"

She shook her head.

"Is that unusual?"

She shrugged. "As far as I know this is the first time they've met since school started."

Draco leaned back, closing his eyes as he took in what she wasn't saying. Something was happening, something that likely put someone she cared about in danger. Potter and Weasley were in auror training; they'd be fine. The Weaslette? She was at Hogwarts. Perhaps it wasn't as safe as it used to be, but she'd be OK, too. Longbottom. Loony. Draco ticked through the mental images of her friends, but nothing jumped out at him which meant only one thing. She was the one in danger. He knew Voldemort had had a strange obsession with the Muggle-born witch. It nearly rivaled the obsession he had with Potter.

Draco looked over at Hermione. She, too, had leaned back against the stone wall, eyes closed, her breath barely audible. She could have been asleep if not for the death grip she had on her wand. Shifting until he was pressed against her side, he closed his eyes, too, and waited.

* * *

><p>"You wanted to see me, Professor?"<p>

Minerva McGonagall studied the young woman before her. She'd been teaching at Hogwarts for decades. She had her favorite students, all professors did, but none made her prouder than Hermione Granger. She was secretly thrilled when she received Hermione's letter stating her intent to return to Hogwarts for her final year of school. She understood why Potter and Weasley wanted to move forward with their lives, but Hermione ... she wanted more and Minerva was going to do everything inn her power to make sure she got it - even if it meant hurting her now.

"Yes. Come in, come in. Tea?"

Hermione shook her head, taking a seat in one of the two overstuffed armchairs in front of the Headmistress' desk. This was her first visit to McGonagall's office. The layout was the same, of course, as were the paintings of past school leaders, but there also was a bit of a feminine touch to the room - and the addition of maroon and gold where there once was no House preference. She imagined Professor Snape commented on that from time to time. The thought made her smile.

"As I'm sure Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley told you, we had an Order meeting tonight."

Hermione nodded.

McGonagall decided not to mince words. "We received new intelligence that identifies you as a new target."

Hermione sighed. She wasn't surprised. She had hoped to be wrong, but after running through all the possibilities, she seemed the likely candidate. Judging by Draco's expression when McGonagall found them in the hallway and requested a word, he did, too.

"Why?" she asked.

"We don't know."

"Do I have to leave Hogwarts?"

McGonagall nodded.

"When?"

"You can stay until the holidays. That's how long we need to put the plan in place."

Hermione started to nod, then stopped. "Plan? I'm not staying with the Weasleys?"

Minerva shook her head. Arthur and Molly had volunteered to watch over Hermione, but everyone knew that was the first place Death Eaters would look for her. The Weasleys were still coming to terms with Fred's death. They didn't need to add the threat of more violence to their lives.

"I don't understand. I can't go to Grimmauld Place. Ron and Harry are training. Sirius and Remus ... they're gone."

"We thought about that, Miss Granger. Believe me, we went through every single scenario we could think of, but the fact of the matter is there are very few Order members left who could assume responsibility for your well-being. Arthur had suggested an auror to serve as a bodyguard, but that department is stretched thin, too. Honestly, we're still trying to figure out who we can trust and who we can't, so we'd like to keep this within the Order."

"I don't understand," Hermione said. "With the Weasleys out of contention, who's left?"

McGonagall sighed. To be fair, he wanted to come to Hogwarts and explain himself, but she thought it best if she broke it to Miss Granger first. Now, though ... She glanced at the sleeping portrait of Albus Dumbledore. Is this how he felt, sitting in this chair? She looked at Snape's image, trying to imagine what he would do in her place.

"Professor?"

She took a deep breath. "There's one member who has the experience to give you the protection you need and the security to keep you safe when he cannot."

Hermione's eyes grew wide. "But he ... Professor, he's the Minister for Magic. Kingsley Shacklebolt does not have time to play baby-sitter."

"He won't be playing baby-sitter, Hermione; he'll be your fiancé."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Wow! Apparently there were a lot of you eager for this pairing. Here's hoping I don't disappoint!**

**I do not own Harry Potter or any of the series' characters.**

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><p>She sat still, waiting for Professor McGonagall's words to sink in.<p>

Fiancé. As in engaged. As in engaged to Kingsley Shacklebolt, former auror, current Minister for Magic.

She couldn't help it. She started laughing. At first, she laughed because the idea was preposterous. Then, as she realized her favorite professor wasn't joining in, and was in fact watching her with a sympathetic expression, her laughter became slightly hysterical. She barely knew Kingsley! Sure, they were in the Order together and fought side-by-side, but she could count on one hand the number of times she spoke to the imposing man and now they expected her to pretend he was her fiancé?

"Miss Granger, I know this is a lot to take in, but you need to calm down," Professor McGonagall said in her no-nonsense tone.

Hermione listened, taking a deep breath to calm her nerves. "I apologize," she started, forcing herself not to give in to the urge to start laughing again. "This idea … truly there are other options."

Molly Weasley had said nearly the same thing a few hours earlier. After Kingsley had announced that Hermione was in danger, Harry and Ron volunteered to go into hiding with her. Kingsley had thanked them, but stressed that the Ministry needed aurors, which meant Harry and Ron needed to complete their training. Arthur and Molly spoke up next, but the Burrow wasn't the safest location and, again, there weren't the numbers to provide additional protection. Bill and Fleur offered Shell Cottage, but they were met with the same arguments as the Burrow.

"Why can't she stay at Hogwarts?" Hagrid asked. "There's no place safer."

Professor McGonagall shook her head. That used to be true, but with half of the castle still being rebuilt, Hogwarts was more open than ever as magical contractors worked to restore the school. Everyone was carefully screened, but nothing was completely foolproof.

"We need a place that's unplottable, but has security in place just in case," Arthur noted.

"Here, then," Harry said, gesturing to the home he inherited when Sirius Black died.

Kingsley shook his head. "This place is empty more often than not," he said. "She can't be alone."

"And she's not a prisoner," Professor McGonagall added. "Yes, she'll need to stay in one place more she'll care to, but she should be allowed to live as normal of life as possible. If she were to suddenly disappear, the death eaters would know we know something."

Ron looked around the table. He wished Remus was there. He always had a solution to a problem. Hell, he even wished Snape was there. Hermione would be safe with Snape and, given their history, it wouldn't look completely odd if they were seen spending more time together. She had always admired the surly potions professor - he never understood why - and Snape, despite his gruff exterior, had somewhat of a soft spot for Hermione. It wouldn't have been perfect, but it would have worked. Studying the witches and wizards in the room, Ron tried to picture someone who could be paired with Hermione to give her the protection she needed without drawing too much attention. Or maybe attention was a good thing. The more Hermione was in the public eye, the less it would look as if she was hiding.

"Kingsley," he said.

The wizard looked over. "Yes?"

"You," Ron said. "She needs you."

Now everyone was staring at him. Ron swallowed, wishing he had kept quiet, but no one was outright glaring, so he went on. "You were an auror, so you know everything there is about recognizing danger and keeping someone safe. You are the Minister for Magic and the Minister's home is unplottable, and heavily warded, so there's that. And you know Hermione, so if people see you together, it won't seem odd."

A few people perked up as Ron's words sank in.

"But why would we be together?" Kingsley asked. "Hermione is a student. She's brilliant, we all know that, but I can't make her an advisor or offer some other position so she has an excuse to be at the Ministry."

Bill looked down at his wife's hand in his. "You're in love," he murmured.

"I'm sorry?" Kingsley asked. He was pretty sure he heard what Bill said, but he hoped he was wrong.

"In love," he repeated, looking at Kingsley with a serious expression. "Hermione can be your fiancée. Everyone knows her parents are no longer in the picture, so it would make sense for her to move into your home. As your intended, she'll be privy to the same security detail that you have."

Hagrid and Flitwick were nodding their heads slowly, as was Arthur. Soon, everyone was joining in. Kingsley felt a moment of panic, similar to what crashed through him when it was announced that he was the newest Minister for Magic. He wasn't soon-to-be-husband material. He wasn't even fake soon-to-be-husband material. "Well, that's interesting and certainly creative, but -"

"But what?" Harry asked. "You won't do it? You call all of us here to talk about the problem and refuse to listen to the only viable solution?"

Kingsley bristled at the young wizard's outburst. "I didn't say I wasn't going to listen. I was simply pointing out that there were some holes in the plan. It's not like I can suddenly announce my engagement to Hermione Granger. No one would believe that."

Harry shrugged. "So, pretend to date her. Go out a few times. Get the press to cover it. Make it look like the two of you have been together for months."

Arthur looked thoughtful. "That could work," he said. "The end of term is six weeks away. We can increase security for Hermione at Hogwarts during that time, giving the two of you a chance to get to know each other and convince the public you're in love, while she wraps up her studies."

"She's going to be crushed that she can't take her N.E.W.T.s," Ron pointed out.

"She can still take her exams in the spring," McGonagall stated. "I'll make sure of it. If anyone can successfully prepare at home, it's Miss Granger."

"I'm sorry," Molly interrupted, "but are we all really entertaining this?"

"Mum, please," Ron said.

"I don't mean to insult you, Kingsley, but you are considerably older than Hermione and have a job that demands most of your time."

"They're not really getting married, Mum!" Ron rolled his eyes in exasperation. "It's just a ploy. It'll last, what, a few months?"

A few people shrugged. They had no idea.

"Fine," Molly huffed. "Think of Hermione. What would she say about all of this?"

Harry and Ron snorted.

"She'd think we were crazy," Harry said.

Molly nodded in satisfaction. Her husband, though, took her hand in his and squeezed.

"I know it isn't ideal, Molly, but it's the only good idea we've come up with," he said. "The fact of the matter is we have limited resources and very little time. Kingsley can keep Hermione safe."

Hermione listened as her professor walked her through the discussion, bristling when she revealed that this plan - this crazy, idiotic plan - was all Ron's idea. She knew he was only trying to help, but come on! She didn't know how to pretend to be someone's fiancée. She had never had a boyfriend! She'd barely been kissed.

"I don't have a say in this, do I?" Hermione asked, her tone resigned.

Professor McGonagall shook her head. "I'm sorry, but you don't. While technically you are an adult, it would be wrong for us not to take steps to protect you."

"And Kingsley? He agreed to this?" She had a hard time believing a man with as much power as Kingsley Shacklebolt would agree to saddle himself to an 19-year-old witch for the unforeseeable future.

"He's an auror above everything else," McGonagall said. "He protects people."

That meant he was noble. Noble, loyal and brave - all traits Hermione admired and was glad to have in the newest Minister for Magic, but that didn't make the situation any easier. "My apologies, Professor McGonagall, but I feel a headache coming on. May I be excused?"

She nodded. "I don't have to remind you that everything we discussed ..."

Hermione bowed her head in acknowledgement. Everything they discussed will remain between them and the members of the Order. Ginny, Neville, Luna, Draco - they would need to be deceived, to believe that Hermione was secretly dating Kingsley and accepted his marriage proposal. Pushing herself out of her chair, she left the headmistress' office with her shoulders slumped as if in defeat. She continued walking that way down the staircase until a surge of anger pulsed through her.

They won! They had won the war. Voldemort was dead! Why weren't things getting better? Why were people still hell bent on following the beliefs of a mad man? A dead mad man? It was ridiculous! This whole situation was ridiculous! She didn't want to leave Hogwarts. She wanted a year with her friends. She wanted to be a kid, someone who's only worry was homework and grades. She didn't want to keep looking over her shoulder, poised for attack. She was tired of this!

Stomping down the stairs, she continued her self-righteous internal rant all the way to Gryffindor tower, practically snarling the password. Ducking through the portrait hole, she ignored the small group of students in the common room, marching straight to her dorm room which was thankfully empty. Throwing herself on her bed, she pulled the curtains closed, put up a silencing charm, and cried. She cried because she was angry. She cried because she was frustrated. She cried because she missed her parents. She missed Fred, and Sirius, and Remus, and Tonks. She missed the person she used to be. She even missed Snape, though she knew he would mock her relentlessly for the pity party she was enjoying.

_Five more minutes. You can cry for five more minutes_.

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><p>Kingsley Shacklebolt was frustrated. He flooed into the study of the Minister's manor and immediately walked to the bar for a drink. Pouring two fingers of firewhiskey in a glass tumbler, he drank the liquid down in one swallow before pouring another. This one he took with him to the couch. Slouching on the soft leather, he put his feet up on the coffee table and studied the dark liquor in the glass. It was nearly the same shade of brown as Hermione's curls, he thought before shaking his head.<p>

This plan was insane, but he had risked his life on crazier missions. When he really thought about it, he had to give Ron credit for constructing something so annoyingly brilliant. He had plenty of room for a witch. It was just him in the manor and he didn't take up much space. Hermione could have her own wing to do with as she pleases. They'd have to have a few public appearances, some social events where she'd attend as his fiancé, but he'd do his best to limit those, for Hermione as much as for himself. There were worse people who could be attached to, even for a short-term pretend engagement. At least Hermione was smart and could hold her own in a conversation. She was brave. He fought alongside her at Hogwarts - at one time they even fought back-to-back, watching out for each other as they deflected curses and cast spells of their own - and he would readily admit that she was a great dueler. He'd offered her the chance to train as an auror, but she turned him down.

He wouldn't admit this out loud, but her refusal kind of stung. It wasn't often people told him no.

Chuckling at the memory, Kingsley summoned a parchment and a quill to draft a letter to Hermione. If they were going to do this, it made no sense to put it off. Professor McGonagall had mentioned a Hogsmeade weekend. They could meet for lunch and talk more about what they needed to do. He'd have someone tip _The Daily Prophet_, perhaps get a picture of the two of them together.

_Think of it as a mission and she'll do the same._

* * *

><p>"Are you mad?"<p>

Hermione stared at the fire and into the faces of her two best friends. Harry looked sympathetic. Ron looked scared.

"I'm not mad, I'm just ... I don't know what I am. It's weird."

The faces of Harry and Ron nodded. Hermione looked around the empty common room, remembering all the times the three of them would sit around, talking, laughing, plotting. "I wish you were here," she told them. "It's strange that you're not."

"It's strange that you're friends with Malfoy," Ron told her.

Hermione laughed. She couldn't disagree with that.

"Are you going to tell him?" Harry asked.

She shook her head. "Order members only. We don't want to take the chance that people find out it isn't real."

"Sorry, Hermione, but we've got to go," Harry told her. "Be safe, OK?"

She waved. "You, too."

Watching their faces disappear and replaced with a roaring fire, Hermione took out the parchments delivered to her earlier that evening. The first was from Harry and Ron, requesting a conversation at 1 a.m. She tossed that in the fire. The second was from the Weasleys reminding her that they loved her and were always there for her. She put that one on the floor beside her. The third was from him.

_Hermione,_

_I'm sure you have a lot of questions. Please meet me for lunch at Three Broomsticks Inn at noon this Saturday and I will try to answer as many as I can._

_Sincerely,_

_Kingsley Shacklebolt_

She studied it for a minute, tracing the outline of his signature with a finger, before throwing that parchment in the fire, too.

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><p><strong>I must confess that I have no idea why rogue death eaters want Hermione. I needed a reason to throw her and Kingsley together and I didn't want to use the marriage law plot. I've been racking my brain and I have nothing. I'm not an evil plan-plotting person. I'm a rainbow and butterflies and everyone is in love kind of person. Help! If you have an idea, let me know. I'll credit you if I use it!<strong>


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Whoa! Lots of great 'Here's why Hermione is in danger' ideas; thanks! You all have given me something to ponder and I hope to come up with something sufficiently dangerous in future chapters. For now, though, first date jitters! OK, sort of first date jitters. **

**As always, I own nothing of the Harry Potter world, just a semi-healthy obsession for the characters.**

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><p>Hermione walked to the Great Hall for breakfast Saturday out of habit more than hunger. She attended classes yesterday in a daze, failing to answer a question Professor Flitwick asked in charms, an occurrence that was so rare, half of the students in the class gasped; a reaction Hermione would have found humorous if she had been paying attention.<p>

"Granger!"

She looked over to see Draco and Theo Nott sitting at a table with Seamus Finnigan and Neville Longbottom. Walking over to the unlikely quartet, she took the empty spot next to Neville, smiling gratefully when he handed her the rest of his coffee. Theo watched the exchange with a curious expression.

"Every morning," he murmured to Draco who nodded.

"Every morning what?" Hermione asked, setting down Neville's empty cup and picking up her own, which was now full.

"Every morning you take Neville's coffee instead of waiting for your own," Theo told her. "Why?"

Hermione glanced at Neville who blushed, but she didn't say anything. He avoided eye contact with Draco and Theo, appearing fascinated with his bowl of porridge, but the two Slytherins would not be ignored.

"Come off it and talk," Theo said.

"It's not a big deal," Neville said. "Third year, Hermione was freaking out about something - "

"Are you sure that was only third year?" Draco asked dryly, winking when she glared at him.

" – and she came rushing in for breakfast and drank my coffee instead. I went to class, potions, and it was the first time, the only time, Snape didn't make me feel like an idiot," Neville continued. "I was convinced it was because Hermione drank my coffee and now … habit, I guess." Neville looked at Hermione. "I know it's stupid, but I missed you doing it last year."

She leaned over and gave him a hug. "Missed you, too, Neville."

Draco rolled his eyes. While part of him appreciated the fact that blokes like Neville and Seamus didn't hold a grudge, this was too much. Changing the subject, he asked what everyone planned to do at Hogsmeade that day. It was the first visit of the term, as the Ministry was still debating whether it was safe for students to visit the village last month.

"I'll go with everyone, but I'm meeting someone for lunch," Hermione said.

"Harry and Ron?" Seamus guessed.

She automatically shook her head and flinched. Why did she do that? Meeting Harry and Ron was the perfect excuse for ditching her classmates. Everyone knew they were busy, so if they stole a couple of hours to see her and not the others, there wouldn't be too many hurt feelings.

"Who are you meeting?" Draco asked.

"No one."

"What?"

"Nothing."

Draco laughed. "You are the worst liar I know."

The look she gave him was pleading. He was curious, but he let it go. She pushed away from the table a minute later, saying she needed to finish getting ready.

"Something is off about her," Seamus said as he watched her rush out of the room.

Neville shrugged. She'd been through a lot. They all have. Everyone handled it differently. Draco knew it was more than that and wondered if the Order meeting had something to do with it. Deciding to send Potter an owl, he told everyone he'd meet them at the main entrance in 30 minutes and walked to the owlery.

"You didn't hear it from me, but the coffee story was nice," Theo told Neville.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he replied.

* * *

><p>Hermione didn't consider herself a girly-girl, but she did have infinity for nice clothes, probably because she wore a school uniform for nearly half of her life. She did something completely out of norm a couple of months ago and treated herself to a small shopping spree in Muggle London. For a few hours, she felt like what she was supposed to be – a teenage girl without a care in the world. One man even whistled at her on the tube. She had glared at him in response, but secretly was thrilled with the attention.<p>

Unfortunately, none of her purchases screamed "meeting fake fiancé," so Hermione went for fashionably comfortable, choosing a pair of dark-wash skinny jeans, topping them with an oversized cream button down shirt, which she left untucked. Adding a maroon cardigan sweater, she completed the ensemble with a pair of dark leather knee-high heeled boots. Studying her reflection, she pulled her hair into a side braid and added a small pair of gold hoop earrings. Remembering how tall Kingsley was, Hermione said a spell to add two more inches to her boots.

"Hermione! Let's go!" Ginny Weasley yelled, running into their shared dorm room. She stopped when she caught sight if her friend, mouth dropping open at the transformation. She always thought Hermione was pretty, but today … "You look amazing!" she squealed. "Who's the lucky guy?"

Hermione rolled her eyes, but Ginny's compliment made her smile. "No guy," she replied, grabbing a large leather purse the same shade as her boots, tossing in her wallet, wand, a book, and lipstick. Grabbing her light gray trench coat and maroon scarf, she linked her arm through Ginny's and led the redhead to the stairs. "Let's go have some fun!"

"Hear, hear!"

* * *

><p>Hermione walked into The Three Broomsticks Inn a few minutes before noon. The others were still at Honeyduke's stocking up on sweets when she made her escape. Only Draco noticed her departure, but chose to keep his mouth closed. For now.<p>

Entering the warm and crowded pub, Hermione was on her tiptoes, searching for Kingsley, when a man in a dark robes took her arm. "Miss Granger?"

She tried to shake out of his grasp, but the man tightened his hold. "Miss Gran -"

She held her wand at his throat. "Let go of me," she said quietly. "Now."

"Hermione!" She relaxed at the familiar voice of Arthur Weasley, but didn't lower her wand until he was by her side. "Dearest, you can relax. This is Cormon; he's part of your security detail."

"My apologies, Miss Granger," Cormon said, letting go of her arm. He stepped back and studied her with a somewhat amused expression on his face. "The Minister thought it best to meet in a private room. I was simply to escort you."

"This is my fault," Arthur told her, taking her arm in his and leading her to the staircase at the back of the pub. "We should have remembered you'd be too smart to go with someone you didn't know."

Hermione looked behind her. Cormon was following them at a discreet distance, his eyes both focused on her and the activity in the room. "Why would I have security detail?"

Arthur shook his head slightly and Hermione understood. Their conversation was not for Ministry's bodyguards, which meant she needed them to think she was marrying Kingsley, too. How many people were they expecting to fool? Could they possibly do this? Could she?

Arthur stopped in front of an oak door, knocking twice. The door opened a few inches, showing only part of a man's face. Arthur said something and the door opened all of the way, showing yet another man in dark robes.

"Hermione, this is Jamison. He oversees Kingsley's security," Arthur said, nodding to the man with a stern expression on his face and a cool look in his blue eyes. Hermione wasn't sure how to greet him, especially after she just threatened one of his team members. She decided to smile and leave it at that.

Jamison's expression didn't change, but he stepped back to let her and Arthur enter the room. Still saying nothing, he left, closing the door behind him. Arthur held up a finger and cast a quick silencing spell before giving her a big hug.

"My girl," he said, holding her tight. "You look well."

"She certainly does," a deep baritone echoed.

Looking over Arthur's shoulder, Hermione got her first glimpse of Kingsley Shacklebolt since Remus and Tonks' funerals. He had delivered the couple's eulogy, his authoritative voice breaking several times as he shared his admiration for his friends. She let her eyes roam over him, and decided he looked much better, stronger, than he had that day. Dressed what he probably considered casual in black slacks and a purple button-down shirt, his robes thrown over an armchair by the fireplace, it was almost easy to look at him as just another member of the Order and not the Ministry of Magic.

But he was the Minister and that was a title that commanded respected. Stepping out of Arthur's embrace, she walked across the room. "I apologize, Minister, for the burden my presence will have on you and your life," she said, holding out her hand so she could shake his. "I'm grateful for the sacrifice you're making to ensure my safety."

Smiling at her formal tone, he took her hand in his, pressing a light kiss to her knuckles. "No thanks necessary, love."

She smiled back, his casual reply helping ease the butterflies in her stomach, choosing to ignore the momentary breathlessness she felt when his lips touched her skin.

Kingsley gestured to the table where three places were set for lunch. "Why don't we sit, eat, and catch you up on what we know?"

Hermione nodded. "Good idea."

* * *

><p>"You don't know anything!"<p>

Arthur looked ashamed at Hermione's outburst while Kingsley just raised an eyebrow.

"I wouldn't go that far, Hermione," Arthur started. "We've identified who is after you …"

"And that's it," Hermione said. "I'm sorry, Mr. Weasley, but knowing death eaters are after me for some yet-unknown reason is terrifying and while Dolohov and Yaxley are two individuals I hope to never see again, knowing that they have been identified as the ones spearheading this operation does not help. All that does is remind me that if I see them in Diagon Alley, I should walk the other way, which is good because I had planned on asking them if they wanted to exchange Christmas cards!"

Arthur looked taken aback. He had heard of Hermione's temper from Ron and the twins, but he had never witnessed it before. Maybe it was time for him to go home and let Kingsley take over. After all, they still needed to figure out the best way to spin their relationship for the sake of the public; he wasn't needed for that conversation. Pushing his chair back, he stood, immediately causing the girl he considered a daughter to look teary.

"I'm sorry!" she cried, jumping up to throw her arms around him. "That was … I know you're doing everything you can. I shouldn't have yelled at you."

Patting her on the shoulder, Arthur returned the hug. Living with Molly and Ginny, he knew women could go from angry to sad in a matter of seconds. He loved the women in his life, but it was times like these he was thankful to have more sons than daughters. "Now, now, Hermione, everything will be OK; I promise."

Sniffling, she pulled away and returned to her chair, saying nothing as Kingsley walked Arthur to the door. They spoke in lone tones. Hermione strained to listen without looking like she was doing just that, but she couldn't hear anything.

"So," Kingsley said as he walked back to the table. "Dessert?"

Hermione shook her head.

"All right. Um …" he looked around the room, as if searching for the best way to bring up the next topic of conversation. Hermione felt the same bubble of hysteria that attacked her in Professor McGonagall's office rise in her throat. She was going to kill Ron.

"Our engagement," Kingsley stated.

Hermione waited. "Yes?"

"We were talking and, well, it would seem odd if we just announced it."

"Not to be rude, Minister, but it's going to seem odd no matter how we try to spin it."

He chuckled. "You're probably right, but what I mean was we need to make it look like we've been a couple for a while, so when we do get engaged, it won't seem completely out of the blue."

She nodded. That made sense.

"I had someone tip _The Daily Prophet _that I'd be visiting Hogsmeade today. Your name didn't come up, but if they were to get a picture of the two of us together, that would get things going."

"And what are we doing in this picture that makes us seem like a couple?" she asked curiously.

Kingsley laughed. "Nothing indecent, I promise. I thought maybe we could go for a walk, holds hands … " He grimaced inwardly. Hold hands? He sounded like a love-struck third year.

Hermione nodded. A walk sounded nice. She could handle a walk.

Kingsley helped her into her coat and put on his robes while she tied her scarf around her neck. Slinging her bag over her shoulder, she followed Kingsley to the door, smiling as he held it open for her. With Jamison walking in front of them and Cormon behind, they made their way downstairs, Kingsley's hand resting on the small of Hermione's back as they weaved their way through the crowded inn. Once they were outside, they set out for one of the quieter streets away from the shops. Jamison remained several feet ahead of them. Again, Cormon took up the rear.

"I'm surprised you made it through the crowd without being noticed," Hermione murmured, jumping slightly when Kingsley removed his hand from her back and laced his fingers through hers. She looked down and saw her hand dwarfed by his.

"A quick _Notice Me Not_," he said with a wink.

She giggled. "How often do you use that spell?"

"Not as often as I'd like," he admitted.

They walked in compatible silence for a few minutes. Hermione was thinking how nice it was to be in the company of someone and not have to talk. Kingsley was thinking the same thing. Typically a man of few words, he was quite certain he had spoken more as a political figure than he did during all of his years as an auror.

"Minister -"

"Kingsley," he interrupted. "I am the love of your life, after all."

She rolled her eyes, but grinned. "Kingsley –"

"Better."

She let out a frustrated huff, nudging him in the side when she saw his smirk. "I forgot what a pain you can be."

He opened his eyes wide. "A pain? Me?"

"Yes, you," she laughed. "Don't think I didn't know about those poker nights you had with Sirius."

"And don't think I didn't know about the Extendable Ears," he retorted.

"I never did get to hear the end of your story about the witch from Beauxbatons," she teased.

"And you never will, love," Kingsley promised.

"We'll see."

Shaking his head, Kingsley looked around the quiet street, making note of his security team along their route. He didn't ask where the photographer would be because he wanted the picture to be as authentic as possible.

"Have you spotted him?" Hermione whispered.

"Who?"

"The photographer."

He shook his head slightly.

"Then who did you see?"

He glanced down, surprised. "How do you know I saw someone?"

She smiled. "You trained me, remember? Well, you and Mad-Eye."

He stopped walking. He had forgotten the few times he helped Mad-Eye school Hermione and the others in basic auror skills. She had been a natural, another reason why he was disappointed in her decision to return to Hogwarts. "Let's see how much you remember," he challenged. "I have four members of my security team here besides Jamison and Cormon. Where are they?"

Not breaking eye contact, she responded. "A gentleman with brown hair is in the tree behind my left shoulder. I assume he's covering the high ground as I saw him on the roof of the inn earlier. Another man, this one a blond, is in the backyard of the cottage three houses down on our right. No women on your team, Kingsley? That's rather sexist."

He smirked. "There are two women on my team," he informed her. "You haven't spotted them."

She grinned. "Then obviously they are better than their colleagues. Shall we continue?"

He laughed; a completely natural, spontaneous laugh. She was a spitfire. Tugging on her hand, he brought her closer so he could whisper the location of the two women. It was that moment, when their bodies were turned toward each other, their heads close together, when he was smiling and she looked captivated, that the photographer took the picture.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: ****JKR has yet to write an essay about Kingsley Shacklebolt, so a lot of what I think I know about him, I've garnered from other fanfic stories (his age, house at Hogwarts, etc.). What I choose to use for this story might not match what you read. I hope it still works. Beep! Beep! Creative license coming through! **

**Oh, and for those of you reading Show Me, I have not abandoned Charlie. He's just been quieter than usual. Hopefully something will come to me soon so I can wrap up that story. I've never had two fanfics going at the same time. How do people do that?**

**I'm still not J.K. Rowling. I still don't own Harry Potter.**

* * *

><p>The cold air burned Hermione's lungs as she ran along the worn path near Black Lake, but her breaths were steady as her feet hit the ground in a comforting rhythm.<p>

"How much longer?" Draco asked, his words clipped as he glanced at Hermione. He hated running. Hated it. But he didn't like the idea of Hermione out by herself, so he put on the ugly running shoes Potter purchased for him in London – he was convinced he chose the bright orange and black design on purpose – and joined her at 6:30 a.m. every other morning.

It was hell.

"One more mile," she answered, not even out of breath despite the chill in the air.

He groaned, but kept going. After spending most of the last year a prisoner in his home, he did have newfound appreciation for the outdoors and fresh air. He tried to talk Hermione into slowing down and enjoying the scenery, but she just laughed and increased her pace, forcing him to go faster, too.

They might be friends, but he would never let her beat him. He was still a Malfoy.

Back at the main entrance, the two parted ways; Hermione up the stairs to Gryffindor tower, Draco to the Slytherin dungeons. Neither one acknowledged that they'd meet for breakfast in 30 minutes.

"Hey, Hermione," a few students greeted her as she walked through the Gryffindor common room. She nodded in return, swinging by to grab her uniform before rushing to the bathroom to shower and get ready for the day. Pulling her semi-damp hair into a messy bun, she stuffed books, parchments and quills into her satchel and rushed back down the stairs. She was starving.

The Great Hall was filled with noise when she entered, spotting Draco, Luna and Neville in the middle of what used to be Ravenclaw's table. Hermione joined them, drank Neville's coffee, rolling her eyes at Draco's snort, and waited for her breakfast to appear on her plate.

"Granger!"

Hermione looked up from spreading jam on her toast, her heart sinking as she saw Theo walking toward the table, a copy of _The Daily Prophet _in his hands. She knew this was going to happen. Kingsley told her, he had planned it after all, but that didn't make the moment any easier.

"What's up?" she asked, hoping her voice sounded casual.

"You tell me," he replied, tossing the paper on the table. There she was, front and center, looking up at the Minister of Magic with a besotted expression after he tugged her to his side. He, in turn, was smiling at her, their bodies moving closer before the image started over again.

_Ministry of Magic Shackled to Gryffindor Princess_

_It appears Hermione Granger has bewitched Ministry of Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt. The pair was spotted in the village of Hogsmeade last Saturday, enjoying what appeared to be a cozy moment, but are they really a couple?_

_"__The Ministry of Magic does not comment on Minister Shacklebolt's personal life," is the official statement, but an anonymous source claims that the pair is indeed dating – and has been for months._

_"__They fought together in the Battle at Hogwarts," a friend of the couple said. "When the smoke cleared, it became obvious that the heat they felt couldn't be blamed on the hexes."_

_Granger, a student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, could not be reached for comment._

Draco studied the image, then Hermione, noting the slight blush on her cheeks. "I guess we know who you met for lunch, huh Granger?"

Luna hummed as she picked up the newspaper, peering closely at something in the photograph no one else could see. Theo opened his mouth to ask, but Draco help up a hand and shook his head. Loony was best in small doses.

Hermione sipped her coffee, trying to pretend she didn't notice how quiet the Great Hall had become before the whispers started. She glanced to the head table, her eye catching Professor McGonagall's for a second. The witch gave a slight nod, her support making it easier for Hermione to turn back to her friends.

"Is it true?" Neville asked with wide eyes.

"He's … we care about each other very much," Hermione said.

"You're dating the Minister of Magic?!"

Hermione flinched at Ginny's screech as the girl marched to their table, pushing Neville aside to sit next to Hermione, her own copy of _The Daily Prophet _in her hands. The girl did not have a filter.

"Ginny –"

"I cannot believe this! I knew you fancied him. I mean, that voice and his hands, but I thought that was just talk!"

Hermione blushed again. Draco snickered, winking when she glared at him. This was possibly the best breakfast he ever had at Hogwarts.

"Can we not talk about this here?" Hermione pleaded with Ginny. The redhead looked around the Great Hall, noticing their audience for the first time. Mouthing "Sorry," she nodded, buying Hermione some time. The group went back to breakfast, Theo making a big show of turning to the paper's sports page to talk about Quidditch.

* * *

><p>Kingsley studied the picture. It was good. No, it was better than good. The way he was looking at Hermione, the way she was looking at him – it made him forget for a second that it was an act.<p>

He had enjoyed his time with her Saturday more than he expected. He knew Hermione was smart – he'd seen her in action plenty of times – but he hadn't realized what a wicked sense of humor she had. After she got over her initial shyness, they passed nearly two hours walking and talking, sometimes about the people they lost and missed, other times sharing little stories about one another, things couples were expected to know about each other after several months of dating.

She spoke French fluently, dreamed of visiting Greece, and missed her cat, Crookshanks, who died shortly before Bill and Fleur's wedding. She hated Wizard's Chess and preferred the Muggle version of the game. Remus Lupin and Minerva McGonagall were her favorite professors at Hogwarts, and if she could make anyone on the planet disappear, no questions asked, it would be Delores Umbridge.

"I can make that happen," he told her, chuckling when she snorted in response. It was probably a good thing she assumed he was kidding.

She was friends with the Malfoy boy. He was still trying to process that one.

"We fought to make things better, Kingsley," she told him. "If I was to hold on to my anger, then we never truly won."

"You're too idealistic," he told her.

"You're too political," she shot back.

He opened his mouth to retort, but Jamison had interrupted, saying Hermione needed to get back to Hogwarts. Cormon would walk her to the main door and meet with Professor McGonagall to discuss his presence at the castle. She had nodded at Jamison, and turned to him, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she stood on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

"Until next time," she promised and walked away, Cormon beside her.

* * *

><p>Ginny watched Hermione read the letter delivered to her at dinner, her eyes sparkling as they skimmed the paper. She assumed it was from Kingsley; any messages she received from Harry and Ron she read aloud. "Does he miss you?"<p>

Hermione looked up, her eyes focusing on the person she forgot was sitting in the common room with her. "What?"

"Kingsley," she said, gesturing to the paper in Hermione's hands. "I assume he owled you sweet nothings. I'm sure it doesn't replace having him whisper them in your ear, but …" she trailed off, her face innocent.

"You know, I really regret playing Truth and Dare with you that night," Hermione grumbled.

Ginny laughed. "Come on! We were in a house with some of the sexiest wizards to ever grace these halls. I mean, there was Snape, Sirius, Remus – yum! – and, finally, your Kingsley."

It had been a late night. The adults were having yet another Order meeting, pushing the teenagers upstairs. After trying to eavesdrop on the conversation with no luck, Harry and Ron had joined Fred and George for a game of Exploding Snap. Not wanting to watch, Hermione and Ginny had gone to their shared bedroom and played the infamous game. It was that night Hermione learned that Ginny had a crush on Draco Malfoy and would happily shag Remus if he ever looked her way. Hermione had responded by sharing her own crush on Sirius. Kingsley wasn't even on her radar until Ginny had asked her to list three physical traits she admired about each male member of the order, her father and brothers excluded. When she mentioned Kingsley's hands, Ginny had sighed happily and concluded Hermione's observation skills were the best in the world.

"What does Mr. Minister say about the picture?" Ginny asked. "Is he upset?"

"Not in the least," Hermione replied. "He apologized for any discomfort it me cause me at school. That's one of the reasons we tried to keep things quiet."

Ginny nodded. Students at Hogwarts loved to gossip, as did the staff.

"I'm going to run to the owlery before curfew," Hermione said, grabbing a quill from her bag. Ginny watched her rush out of the room with a smile. Hermione and Kingsley. Who knew?

* * *

><p><em>Hermione,<em>

_The photograph in today's Prophet does not do you justice; you are lovelier in person. I enjoyed our time together Saturday and hope our schedules allow us to get together soon. I need to show you the wonder that is Wizard's Chess._

_Cormon tells me you go running with Malfoy. He is already regretting this assignment. Please take it easy on him; he's one of the best._

_Kingsley_

Hermione laughed. She saw Cormon during her run. He was very good about blending in the background, even when he had to rush to keep up.

Tapping her quill against her cheek, she wondered how she should respond. His tone was certainly less formal in this message than his previous one. Going with instincts, she dashed a reply.

_Dear Minister,_

_I must inform you that the photograph in today's Prophet prompted at least half of the female student body to daydream about the Minister of Magic rather than concentrate on their classes. _

_Professor McGonagall will be contacting you about the decline in academic achievement. _

_Hermione Granger_

She dawdled on her way back to the dorms, thinking of Kinglsey and how right it felt when he had her hand in his. She wasn't kidding when she told Ginny all those years ago that she admired his hands. She first noticed them during a dueling lesson, when he placed one of his over hers to correct the grip on her wand. Large, strong, she fell asleep that night imagining what his dark hands would look like on her pale skin. She had completely forgotten her short-lived obsession until Ginny reminded her.

Making it back to the tower minutes before curfew, Hermione was walking to the steps leading up to her dorm room when a tapping on the window caught her attention. Letting in the white owl, she stroked his head as she took the note attached to his talons.

_Miss Granger,_

_At least half? I must be losing my touch. _

_Which camp do you fall into?_

_The Minister of Magic_

"Does he want a response?" she asked the owl. The bird didn't move, so she took that as a yes.

_Dear Sir,_

_That's for me to know and you to find out._

_Now, I must go to sleep if I am to help Hogwarts maintain some sense of decorum. Don't you have paperwork to sign?_

_Miss Granger_

Kingsley fell asleep that night with a smile on his face.

Hermione did, too.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: All the feelings! I hope so, at least. That's what I was going for here.**

**I do not own Harry Potter or anything related to Harry Potter.**

* * *

><p>"Please?"<p>

Harry sighed. Even through the fire, she could see the worry in his eyes. "I don't know …"

"Harry, I'm leaving Hogwarts," she whispered, leaning closer to the fireplace. It was late and the common room was empty, but you never knew he could be listening. "You and I both know this place has meant more to us than anyone. We found our home here. We found each other. I need to be able to say goodbye without Cormon trailing me."

"But the invisibility cloak? Hermione, all of this is to keep you safe. Sneaking around the castle is the exact opposite -"

"Are you honestly going to lecture me about doing what I'm supposed to?"

He had the decency to blush.

"One night, Harry; that's all I'm asking for."

He ran his fingers through his already messy hair and promised to think about it. Hermione would have been happier with a definitive yes, but she knew Harry. He'd weigh the pros and cons, and ultimately decide to trust the person who has saved his life more times than he can count.

He better, anyway.

* * *

><p>It was quiet in the library. Well, quieter than usual. Madame Pince was working in the restricted section, painstakingly repairing books that were damaged during the final battle against Lord Voldemort. Hermione helped when her schedule allowed. It was a long and tedious process. The usual spells could not be used given the delicacy of some of the books, both in appearance and the information they contained. Both Professor McGonagall and Madame Pince agreed Hermione's abilities were among the best they'd seen, but neither would allow her to use those skills around the restricted books.<p>

"I'm of age," Hermione protested.

"You are a student," Madame Pince told her. The conversation was over.

Sighing, Hermione carefully turned the pages of the second year charms textbook in front of her, murmuring the spell to repair the charred edges. After that was done, another spell mended the binding, while the third restored the cover. Pleased with the results, Hermione said one last spell to remove any traces of dark magic – with all the hexes and curses thrown about the library that night, it's possible the books absorbed some of their essence. Madame Pince was adamant that every book in her library return to the shelf in pristine condition, in both looks and content.

One text down, 47 to go.

She lowered her head to hide her grin when she heard Cormon groan. He hated visiting the library. Madame Pince didn't like him. She had said his presence was not necessary when Hermione was working after hours, but Kingsley was adamant that Cormon maintain his post. The only time he did not have Hermione in his sights was when she was in her dormitory. She was grateful to leave him at the portrait leading to the Gryffindor common room every night. Cormon wouldn't say it, but she knew he was glad, too.

"What the hell were you thinking?"

Hermione jumped, the angry voice beside her making her break focus, causing the entire pile of books to fall to the ground.

"Miss Granger!" Madame Pince scolded, walking out of the restricted section with her hands on her hips, ready to scold. The furious look on the Minister for Magic's face made her swallow her words. Glancing between the irate wizard and temperamental witch, she decided to go back to her work. She trusted Miss Granger would not let her anger be the cause of any more damage to the library.

"It's nice to see you, too," Hermione muttered, using her wand to restack the pile of books on the table. She saw Cormon stand up and walk out to the hallway. Some bodyguard he turned out to be.

Kingsley pulled out the chair next to Hermione and sat, turning her chair to face him. His dark eyes were flashing with anger. Hermione thought it was fascinating. Kingsley did not lose his temper. Even in battle, he was cool, calm, and focused.

"I assume Harry told you."

"I cannot believe you would even consider doing something so stupid, so irrational, so -"

"I'm not a child, Kingsley," she whispered fiercely. "Stop treating me like one!"

"I will when you stop acting like one," he hissed in reply. "Everything we're doing, all that we've done, all that I've done, is to keep you safe. To think you would just throw that away so you could have some illicit adventure -"

"I need to say goodbye!"

Kingsley sat back, not feeling Hermione's death grip on his arm as she stared at him with unshed tears in her eyes.

"I know I have to leave, I understand, but that doesn't make it easier and I wanted … I wanted one night to say goodbye without someone shadowing me." She let go of his arm, clasping her hands together so tight, her knuckles were white. She wanted to explain what she was feeling at the thought of leaving. She was losing her safety net. There was a whole world out there and she didn't know what role she wanted in it. For so long, she was only focused on staying alive, on keeping Harry alive and defeating Voldemort, but now?

She grew up in a caring home with loving parents, but she always knew something was different about her. She didn't have a lot of friends as a child. She pretended it didn't bother her, but there were times she'd be in her room, reading, but would be distracted by the shrieks of laughter from the children her age at the park. She'd sit in her bedroom window seat and watch as they ran and played, longing to join them, but scared of their rejection. When her letter from Hogwarts arrived, everything in her life suddenly made sense. She counted the days until September 1, so eager to meet more students like her. When Harry and Ron accepted her, she felt complete. She had her family. And as the years passed, that family grew to include all of the Weasleys, Remus, Sirius, Tonks, Neville, Luna, the Order.

She had a place. She belonged – and it was all because of Hogwarts.

Kingsley watched the play of emotions on her face, his incense waning as she struggled to regain her sense of decorum. He knew leaving Hogwarts wouldn't be easy for her, but he assumed it was because she was an academic. Apparently it was bigger than that.

"I can't let you wander on your own, love," he said quietly.

Her shoulders slumped in defeat. "I know," she replied, staring at the table.

"Would you consent to allow me to join you?"

Hermione looked up, looking very much like a woman who was just promised her choice of jewels. Kingsley had a sudden desire to do whatever was in his power to make her that happy all the time.

"We'll meet in the headmistresses' office at 10 p.m. Friday," he said, standing up to leave.

Hermione stood up, too, wrapping her arms around him. "Thank you."

He ran a hand down her curls and squeezed her shoulder lightly. "Don't stay up too late. Cormon looks exhausted."

* * *

><p>"This is highly unorthodox," Professor McGonagall said, peering at Kinglsey over her half-moon glasses. He held himself still, even though that look of hers sent him right back to his own school days.<p>

"Come on, Minerva," he said. "We've asked a lot of her. All she wants is a chance to walk through Hogwarts without an audience."

"Yet you'll be with her."

He shrugged, not wanting to say too much with Jamison in the room. Work kept him away from Hogwarts, and Hermione, for most of the past month. He managed to get away for one dinner, also in McGonagall's office, and their sort-of showdown in the library, but he felt closer to her, partly due to the daily reports from Cormon, but mostly because of the tongue-in-cheek messages he exchanged with Hermione often. He was looking forward to her moving into his home. Temporarily, of course.

He stood at the soft knock at the door, smiling when Hermione pushed past Cormon to give him a hug. He returned her greeting, keeping one arm around her shoulder as she turned to greet her professor, effectively quieting McGonagall's discontent with her gushing thanks and gratitude.

"Well played, love," Kingsley murmured as they walked down the stairs.

"I have no idea what you mean," she replied with a smirk on her face.

Turning to Jamison and Cormon, Kinglsey told them to join the other members of his security detail outside the castle walls, raising an eyebrow when Jamison asked him to reconsider.

"You do remember I was head auror, do you not?" he asked. "I'm quite sure I can handle Miss Granger's protection, and my own, for a few hours."

Taking Hermione's hand in his, they walked away, not giving either man a chance to answer. It wasn't until they turned a corner that his body lost its stiffness. Looking down at the girl beside him, he smiled, knowing she understood how much he hated being watched all the time.

"I appreciate this, Kingsley. Really."

He shook his head. "I should be thanking you. The last time I walked around without people following me was, well, here – after the battle." He looked around, remembering how destroyed everything was, the bodies of friends and of enemies littering this very hallway. He marveled at his naiveté; thinking the hard part was over. Pushing aside his melancholy mood, he squeezed Hermione's hand to gain her focus. "Where to?"

She didn't respond, but tugged him down a hallway, stopping in front of what appeared to be a small swamp. "Fred and George made this, when they left Hogwarts," she said, letting go of Kingley's hand to kneel down. "It was bigger; it blocked Umbridge from her office. She wanted it gone, but Professor Flitwick said he didn't know how to remove it. He did, of course, but waited until she was dismissed from Hogwarts. This patch, though, he kept because he admired what Fred and George could do."

She murmured something and a white rose appeared in her hand. Kingsley didn't say anything in response to her wandless magic, choosing to step back so Hermione could have her moment. She placed the rose on the swamp, smiling as he floated along the surface for a moment before being sucked under the dark surface.

"Fred and George were my first friends at Hogwarts," she said, standing up, tucking her arm through Kingsley's as they walked away.

"I thought Harry and Ron …"

She laughed. "No, Harry and Ron are my best friends, but we didn't get along at first. I was so desperate to fit in, so determined to prove myself that my … let's say eagerness, pushed them away. It pushed most of our classmates away. Fred and George, they would leave notes in my bag, telling me not to give up, to keep showing up everyone in class, especially the Slytherins. They'd sit next to me at meals. We didn't talk all that much, they were third years and I was the Muggle-born know-it-all first year, but it helped, knowing they were looking out for me. Even after Harry, Ron and I got close, they would watch us, speak up if they thought I wasn't being treated fairly."

Kingsley didn't say anything as she led him to the dungeons. This part of the castle was still in need of repairs, so they had to tread carefully on their way to what he knew was Snape's classroom. He stayed by the door as Hermione walked inside, again saying the spell to conjure a white rose, which she left on Snape's desk.

"He'd hate that," she told Kingsley with a grin.

"Why do it?"

"Because he said I made it my life's goal to make his life miserable. I don't want to disappoint him."

She ducked into the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, leaving a rose for Remus.

"They day he learned you figured out his secret and didn't tell anyone - he became your champion," Kingsley told her.

She nodded, one tear falling down her cheek.

They walked to the Astronomy Tower and left a rose for Dumbledore, then circled back to the Great Hall, where Hermione scattered roses around the room for all of those brought there to rest after the battle ended. "They'll be gone by morning," she told Kingsley, standing in the middle of the room, staring at the ceiling which was enchanted to look as dark as it was outside, with only a few stars visible behind the clouds.

"Why do it?" he repeated.

"I met some of the greatest people I'll ever know here and I lost them here," she replied, still looking up. "I couldn't leave without telling them goodbye." She looked over, her smile bright despite the sadness in her eyes. "Thank you for understanding."

"I'm a pretty understanding guy," he replied, smiling when she snickered.

"Yes, that's what everyone says about you. 'Kingsley Shacklebolt: former auror, Minister for Magic, total marshmallow.'"

"You forgot good looking," he joked.

"Oh, that goes without saying; I assumed the Ravenclaw prefect would know that."

"It's always good to hear."

"I'll be sure to remember that," she promised, turning to walk out of the room. His hand on her arm stopped her.

"We've got some time," he said, a mischievous look in his eyes. "I don't know about you, but I always wondered what the view looked like from the head table."

Her eyes lit up. "From McGonagall's chair!"

They both ran to the front of the room, each one determined to be the first to the oversized chair designated for Hogwarts' headmaster or headmistress. Kingsley won, plopping in the chair with a contented side, propping his feet up on the table. "Not bad," he commented, looking out at the other tables.

Hermione was breathless when she reached him. Her hair, which had been pulled back into a neat ponytail, was loose, several curls framing her flushed face. "Get out of my chair," she demanded.

"Your chair? I was here first."

"It was my idea."

He rolled his eyes. "No, it was my idea to sit at the head table."

"It was my idea to sit in that chair!"

He grinned - "Compromise?" - and pulled her on to his lap, shifting so she faced forward, her back against his chest. He wanted to laugh at how stiffly she held herself. He didn't know what made him do it. She looked so flustered; it was adorable. "Relax," he told her, moving his feet to the floor and resting his hands on the chair's armrests. "No one ever got kicked out of Hogwarts for sitting in this chair."

She glared at him over her shoulder. "You think you're smart, don't you?"

"Ravenclaw. I know so."

She shook her head and faced forward. She knew she should get up. Sitting in Kingsley's lap was highly inappropriate, but it was also comfortable and, if she was to admit it, kind of hot. He was so much bigger than her. She moved her hands so they rested on top of his, smiling when he turned his over to hold hers. She relaxed, leaning back so he could rest his chin on top of her head. After a moment, he brought his arms around her waist, his hands still holding hers. He didn't know how long they sat there, each in their own thoughts, until she yawned.

"Up, love; you need to get to bed."

She nodded, shifting forward until her feet were on the ground. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from groaning before pushing himself up. Taking her hand, he led her out of the Great Hall and to Gryffindor tower. Standing in front of the portrait, he used his free hand to tuck an errant curl behind her ear.

"Did you do what you needed to do?"

She nodded. "Thank you," she whispered, squeezing his hand before she let go. He took hold again, bringing it up to kiss her knuckles, then turning her hand over to place a light kiss on the inside of her wrist, smiling when he felt her pulse point jump.

"I'll see you tomorrow, love."

She nodded, her eyes wide. He barely heard her whisper the password before she ducked inside the portrait, leaving him alone.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Good bye Hogwarts, hello politics.**

**I'm not J.K. Rowling. Really, I'm not. I do not own Harry Potter.**

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><p>Everyone in Hermione's car stood up the second Hogwarts Express pulled into the station. Ginny was excited to see Harry. Luna was anxious to see her father and their house, which was finally livable again - and completely free of Nargles, she announced happily. Neville was actually happy to see his grandmother, who was much more affectionate since his heroic acts in battle. Hermione was the only one who stayed seated, long after everyone had gone.<p>

Cormon had peeked in to ask if she needed anything but she shook her head no.

"I've secured the train. You should leave now," he prompted.

"One more minute. Please?"

He sighed. She was getting familiar with his sighs. This was his why-do-I-even-bother sigh. Giving him a sympathetic smile, she closed her eyes after he shut the door, grateful for the silence. She was going to miss this train. She met Harry and Ron on this train. A dementor attacked them on this train and Lupin saved them. Fred taught her how to play Exploding Snap on this train. George used to steal her book so she had to talk to him.

"Feeling nostalgic?"

"Ron!"

Laughing, the redhead ducked under the doorway and swept his friend into a hug. It was the first time the pair saw each other, in person, since August.

"I've missed you!" Ron said, pulling back to smile at his friend. "Don't tell Harry I said this, but there is such a thing as too much Quidditch. Seriously, that's all he would talk about! I was this close to asking him how things were going with Ginny!"

She laughed, but didn't let go. "What are you doing here? Arthur said you had your first assignment."

He grinned proudly. "I do. Guarding Kingsley."

Hermione's eyes grew wide. "He's here?" She knew she was moving in to Minister's Manor that afternoon; Kinglsey had told her that during their late night Hogwarts tour, but she assumed she'd go to the Burrow with the Weasleys first. She rushed to the window to catch a glimpse, but the platform was too crowded with students and their families for her to spot the dark-skinned wizard who, in the past few weeks, had claimed center stage during her daydreams, not that she was a girl who indulged in such things.

Or she wasn't until Kingsley Shacklebolt reentered her life.

Ron watched his friend, a bit confused over her reaction. Maybe it was the crowd. Hermione hated being the center of attention, which is why it was decided he should be the one to warn her of what was expected once she exited the train. "He's waiting by Mum and Dad. Um, the press is here, too. Including Rita Skeeter."

Hermione groaned as she turned away from the window. She hated that woman. She should have left her in that jar while she had the chance.

Ron opened the car door and gestured for her to go through, following her as she weaved her way down the narrow hallway. She could hear the excited voices of students greetings their families as they got closer to the door leading out to the platform. Ron gestured for her to stop as he looked out, making sure everything was as it should be. Hermione observed his actions with an amused expression. The last time she saw Ron take something this seriously … she had to think about that for a minute.

"I'm going to step out first, then you. You'll take my arm and I'll walk you to Kingsley, all right?"

"Why are we being so formal?"

He turned to face her, the smile gone. "Hermione, this is like your ... what's that thing you said Muggles have, you know when their daughter's turn of age?"

"A coming-out party?"

He snapped his fingers. "Yes! This is the first time you and Kingsley are publicly acknowledging your relationship. That picture in the _Prophet _gave the public a taste. Rumors kept it going. Now you need to prove that it's true."

"'Prove that it's true?'" she repeated, not quite believing what was happening. She was about the exit the Hogwarts Express and make a public declaration of her love for the Minister of Magic. Her chest felt tight. When did it get so warm? "We ... What do I ..." She inhaled deeply, let it out slowly. Now was not the time to panic. "How are we supposed to do that?"

Ron shrugged, peeking out the door again. Jamison was glaring at him. They had to get moving. "I don't know, Hermione, just follow Kingsley's lead. He knows what he's doing."

"Wait!" she hissed, grabbing his arm.

Ron ignored Jamison and turned to Hermione. Of the two, she definitely was the scarier one. "What?"

"Neville's out there. And Ginny. Luna."

"Yeah, and Malfoy and Nott and a bunch of other people. What's your point?"

Hermione took a step back, extremely uncomfortable with what they were about to do. "I'm lying to them, Ron," she hissed. "After everything we've gone through, everyone really trying to move forward and get along, I'm forcing them to believe that Kingsley and I ... I can't do this!"

Ron stepped forward, grabbing Hermione by her arms. "Listen to me! You have been targeted! I don't care what we have to do or who we have to lie to - you will stay safe! You are not going to get hurt. I lost my brother! I refuse to lose you, too. If you need to get off this train and straddle Kingsley in front of the entire wizarding world to make them believe the two of you are together, you will do it. Do you understand?"

He wasn't yelling. He was deadly calm. Hermione almost wished he would explode in one of his typical rants. She could deal with that. She couldn't handle the person staring at her with such controlled anger.

"I'm going to be fine, Ron. I promise."

He let out a deep breath. "You better be."

With that, Ron exited the train. Saying a quick prayer to whatever gods answered such silly requests, Hermione followed. Her exit was greeted by the flash of several cameras in her face. She saw Neville watching with wide eyes. Draco was staring, too, but his look was more focused, almost calculating. Again, she searched the crowd for Kingsley, hoping for some clue as you how she was supposed to respond. He had offered to pick her up from Hogwarts that morning. He said he'd prefer it, but she wanted to take the train on last time. Grasping Ron's arm, her friend hissed at her grip – "Sweet Merlin, Hermione, give a man some warning!" – she realized she should have listened to Kingsley.

* * *

><p>He watched as Ron made to leave the train, then was pulled back inside. Jamison growled, Cormon sighed and Kingsley ducked his head to hide his grin. After a couple of tense minutes during which Jamison maintained a white-knuckle grip on his wand, Ron exited the train, holding his arm out for Hermione. Kingsley had a moment of panic when he realized he hadn't talked to her about her appearance, but she was as put together as she always was, wearing dark brown trousers, heeled brown boots and a navy blue pea coat with a cream-colored scarf knotted around her neck. Her hair was bunched under a matching stocking cap. She looked fresh, vibrant - and scared to death. In all the years he'd known her, she had never looked scared. Anxious? Yes. Determined? Very much so. Frustrated? Often. But never scared. She had a death grip on Ron's arm and it looked like she was reminding herself to breathe.<p>

He should have insisted on collecting her at Hogwarts. He had mentioned it, but she asked to take the train instead. He tried to explain to her why a less public arrival would be better, but she turned her eyes on him, those large, whiskey-colored eyes, and he was helpless to refuse. Most witches spent years perfecting that look to get what they want. Not Hermione. She didn't have a hidden meaning or agenda. She was a true Gryffindor, wearing every single one of her emotions on her sleeve and now he was thrusting her in to the political spotlight.

She hated attention. He knew that. In the weeks following Voldemort's death, she shied away from any attempt to push her into the spotlight. She attended funerals and hearings, making speeches when she had to and giving testimony when necessary, but she turned down invitations to join the wizarding elite and she avoided the press. Unfortunately, that didn't stop them from writing about her. Everyone wanted a piece of the Muggle-born witch who helped take down the Dark Lord and his "relationship" with her had given them the juiciest bite yet.

"She doesn't want to do this," he heard Molly whisper to Arthur. "Call it off. We'll find another way."

"Molly, please," Arthur begged, his heart going out to Hermione.

Kingsley heard them and ignored them. Ron was right. Hermione needed him. He wasn't going to let anyone near her until he was sure she was safe, starting now.

_Look at me, love. I've got you. _

As if she heard him, her head raised and their eyes locked on each other. He lifted his chin, a slight smirk on his face. With a subtle nod, she straightened her spine, loosened her hold on Ron, and smiled. It wasn't a true smile, but a cool, polite upward turning of her lips he imagined she saved for strangers. Ignoring the questions shouted at her, she allowed the newest Ministry auror to lead her through the crowd, her eyes never losing contact with his.

"Mr. Minster," she greeted him, letting go of Ron so Kingsley could take her hand in his, turning it over so he could kiss the inside of her wrist.

"I missed you," he murmured.

She smiled; a real smile. Going with instinct, after all his instincts had served him well in the past, Kingsley used his grip on her hand to pull her forward until her body was flush against his. Wrapping his other arm around her, he felt something inside him click when she instinctively brought her hand up to his shoulder to steady herself. Forgetting the crowd, the cameras, anything that wasn't Hermione, he lowered his head and kissed her.

* * *

><p>Hermione had been kissed three times in her life. Well, four times by three different men. The first was Viktor Krum fourth year. He had kissed her twice - once after the Yule Ball and again when he went back to Bulgaria. They were nice kisses, sweet, and she treasured the memory of them as much as she treasured her continued friendship with the Bulgarian wizard.<p>

Her second kiss was with Sirius Black during the Christmas holiday break fifth year. They had been celebrating at Grimmauld Place. Sirius was still hiding from the aurors determined to put him back in Azkaban and the threat of Voldemort was high, so it wasn't a particularly joyful occasion. The twins tried to liven things up, though, charming mistletoe to appear throughout the house to capture unsuspecting couples. Hermione and Sirius were ensnared in the hallway just outside the kitchen. The raven-haired wizard had laughed and kissed Hermione on the cheek, growling when his feet remained stuck to the floor.

"Fred and George ..." Hermione had stuttered, her face bright red with embarrassment. "The mistletoe is charmed so couples can't leave until they havs a significant snogging."

She expected Sirius to roll his eyes, to shout for the twins to end the spell immediately, but instead he had smirked, framed Hermione's face with his hands, and leaned forward, pressing his lips gently against hers. She was able to move a few seconds later and stepped back, expecting Sirius to do the same, but he had moved closer to her, deepening the kiss until she opened her mouth slightly and he could sweep in. He pulled away a moment later, winked, and walked down the hallway whistling.

Her last kiss was with Ron, after learning of Fred's death. She sat with him, holding his hand as he cried. When he kissed her, she kissed him back, trying to give whatever comfort she could. Later, as the sat in the orchard at the Burrow, Ron had apologized for his actions, saying he loved Hermione, but he didn't think it was the right kind of love. She had hugged him and kept her arms around him as they slept outside.

None of those kisses prepared her for Kingsley. He wasn't sweet like Viktor. He didn't seduce like Sirius or hold tight like Ron.

He took.

His lips moved against hers, strong and sure, with a slight pressure that made her open to him. Her hands moved to his shoulders as his slid around her waist, as his tongue mated with hers once, twice. She felt his hands flex on her hips before he pulled back, his breathing heavy. Lifting a hand to her hat, he slid it off so her hair tumbled free. Groaning quietly, he buried his face in her curls.

"Gods, Hermione ..." he whispered, pulling back so he could look at her. She looked dazed. He was sure he looked the same and he felt ... he had no idea what he was feeling. All he knew was he wanted to kiss her again.

_Focus. Now is not the time._

He pressed a quick kiss to her forehead and took a step back. "Let's get out of here."


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: We had a debate at work about how different Harry's life would be if Sirius had lived. It started after a colleague said she thought it was a good thing he wasn't around to influence Harry.**

**Things got intense. **

**I do not own Harry Potter.**

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><p>It took nearly an hour for Kingsley and Hermione to make their way to one of the non-descript Ministry cars parked outside of King's Cross station. After their impromptu kiss, the media went wild, with photographers from <em>The Daily Prophet<em>, _Witch Weekly_ and _Wizards Quarterly_ fighting to get the best shot. Then the reporters got involved.

"How long have you been together?"

"When did your relationship begin?"

"What influence will Miss Granger's parentage have on your legislation?"

"What is your response to rumors that Miss Granger only partners with wizards of influence?"

That last question came from Rita Skeeter, of course. The malicious blond and Hermione glared at each other, while Arthur Weasley subtlety blocked his wife's path to the reporter. Molly still felt guilty for believing the lies Rita published about Harry and Hermione during the Triwizard Tournament and tended to voice revenge plots aloud when she was cooking or cleaning. Arthur missed with Molly used to daydream about Harrison Ford, the Muggle actor. At least those daydreams sometimes resulted in a pleasant experience for him, not the possibility of guilt by association.

He need not have worried. As soon as Rita yelled her question, garnering the attention of everyone on Platform 9¾, Kingsley turned to her with a dangerous glint in his dark eyes.

"I don't put much stock in rumors, Miss Skeeter," he said calmly. "You know that."

"Then look at the facts, Minister. Viktor Krum. Harry Potter. Ronald Weasley." She cocked a brow, eager for his response to that. Only Hermione noticed how her eyes narrowed slightly when Kingsley laughed.

"An innocent school date and her best friends," he remarked, wrapping an arm around Hermione and hugging her to his side. He could tell by the way she held herself that she was struggling to control to her temper. Keeping his arm around her waist, he turned to the reporters, facing Rita specifically, but speaking loudly enough so that everyone heard him. "I think the better question is why a witch like Hermione Granger would saddle herself to someone like me. I don't have her brilliance, not did I successfully face off against Death Easters when I was a student. This woman has accomplished so much in her 19 years. To imply that she would date a wizard purely to improve her stature is an insult to her and strong women everywhere."

With that, he turned to Hermione with a questioning look, leaning down to whisper in her ear. "Do you want to say anything?"

She shook her head, knowing her emotions were too close to the surface to voice anything eloquent. Instead, she stood on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek and tried not to laugh when she heard a wolf whistle in the back of the crowd.

Offering Hermione his arm, Kingsley followed Jamison and Harry as they made their way through the crowd, Cormon and another wizard – a female, Hermione noted – took up the rear. More questions were shouted as they passed, but the couple ignored them. Hermione did smile at the people she knew who called her name – mostly classmates former and current. She stumbled slightly when her eyes met Lucius Malfoy, who was standing with his wife, Narcissa, and Draco. She had not seen the blond wizard since his trial before the Wizengamot. Harry had testified on behalf of the Malfoy family, allowing the elder Malfoys to avoid Azkaban. Instead, they were under house arrest, but their presence at the train station made it obvious that they were once again free.

Hermione looked away from the elder man to focus on Draco, who smirked in return, but it wasn't the stuck up and snobbish smirk of years past, but a friendly I'm-so-going-to-give-you-a-hard–time smirk. Hermione smiled back, grateful with a break in the crowd allowed she and Kingsley to move ahead and avoid a conversation with the family.

"Hanging in there?" Kingsley murmured.

"How can you stand this?" she whispered in response.

She felt rather than heard him sigh, effectively answering her question. He did it because he had to. He fought against Lord Voldemort because he was wrong and he accepted the role thrust upon him because it was right. Knowing this, and understanding it, Hermione swore to herself that she would make her time with Kingsley as unobtrusive for him as possible. Glancing back at the brown-haired wizard who had been her shadow for the past six weeks, and would continue to be so until Dolohov and Yaxley were captured, Hermione promised to be nicer to him, too.

Exiting Platform 9¾ without drawing the attention of the Muggles crowding King Station was an arduous process. By the time Hermione was seated in the car, she was hot, tired, and starving. She unwound her scarf from her neck and stuffed it in the hat Kingsley had placed on the seat between them. She unbuttoned her coat next, leaving it open for the drive to the Ministry of Magic. Ron has already told her she would use a heavily-guarded floo to get to the Minister's Mansion.

"You did well," Kingsley said, picking up a folder Jamison had handed to him before moving to the front seat to sit by the driver. Looking at his schedule for the rest of the day, he was grateful to see Sunday was still clear. That almost made up for the dinner he had to attend Tuesday night. He briefly wondered if having Cormon inform Hermione that her presence was required, too, exceeded the man's job description.

"If by 'well' you mean I didn't make things worse, then yes, it was successful," Hermione replied, leaning back in her seat and closing her eyes. She wondered if it would be bad form to take off her boots before she was resigned to leaving them on. Her father used to say that if you had to question if something was wrong, it probably was.

"I apologize," Kingsley said. "I should have been more insistent about picking you up at Hogwarts."

She smiled slightly, her eyes still closed. "I probably still would have asked to take the train."

He chuckled at that. "I know you would have."

She tilted her head to the side and looked at Kingsley. "Thank you for saying what you did back there. Rita Skeeter and I have a problematic relationship."

"I think you'll find many who feel that way about her."

"Still, having my name linked with yours … she's going to have a field day. You will have some less than flattering things written about you."

"What about you, Hermione? Aren't you upset that she'll be writing critical stories about you, too?"

She shrugged. "Honestly, I'm used to it by now. Any rebuttal comes off as defensive, so I choose to say something. The people I care about and the people whose opinions I respect know the truth."

Kingsley leaned back in his seat, too, turning his head to study Hermione. She had a spattering of freckles across her nose. They were adorable. He had a sudden desire to lean forward and kiss them, one by one. He glanced at the two men in the front seat. If they didn't have an audience, he probably would.

_Get a hold of yourself, man. _

They were quiet for the rest of the drive. She had turned her head the other way and was watching the scenery through the window. He closed his eyes to catch a few minutes of sleep, a habit he picked up when he was an auror. He could fall asleep anywhere, at any time, and wake up just as quickly.

* * *

><p>Despite it being Saturday, the Ministry was packed when Kingsley and Hermione entered, though their presence did not cause as big of a stir as it did by the Hogwarts Express. Hermione noticed a few people studying her – all women – as they made their way to the lift. One was a blond, who had a curious expression on her otherwise kind-looking face. Another, a black-haired beauty who managed to look seductive in her Ministry robes, outright glared at Hermione, while two others – another blond and a brunette – appeared less acrimonious, but certainly not friendly. Rather than cowl to the man by her side, as she assumed they expected her to do, Hermione stared back, a challenging expression on her face, pleased when a couple of the women broke eye contact first. Kingsley watched all of this out of the corner of his eye, smiling slightly at the response. She was a lot stronger than people realized and she knew how to handle herself.<p>

He found it incredibly hot.

Resting his hand on the small of Hermione's back, he followed her into the lift and started ahead during the assent. He wanted to talk to her about what happened at the train station, the way he had kissed her and, if she was amendable, her response, but he couldn't do it now. Everyone with them, except Ron, assumed their relationship was real. Any conversations that went that assumption would have to occur when they were alone, only Kingsley wasn't sure if it was wise for him to be alone with Hermione.

"I apologize, Hermione, but I won't be able to see you to the manor," he told her, again taking her hand as they walked down a heavily-warded hallway. Hermione could feel the magic pushing on her skin. "I have a few things I need to do here first, but I plan to be home so we can have dinner together."

"I understand," she told him – and she did. He had an important job. She wasn't going to make him feel bad for meeting his obligations.

"Cormon can show you the basics – your rooms, the library, study. I'll give you the grand tour tonight."

He stopped in front of a plain wall. Jamison lifted his wand and tapped a sequence on the dark-gray surface. A second later, a framed box appeared. Jamison held his hand and wand to it, stepping back for Cormon, then Kingsley, to do the same.

"Security," Kingsley told her. "You will need to be with me or Cormon in order to gain access to this floo and the one at the manor."

"What about apparition?"

"The manor is similar to Hogwarts in that no one can apparate within its walls and grounds. There is a spot outside the wards, which I'll show you later, but I don't think you'll have cause to need it."

All of this was said as the small group entered a door that wasn't there seconds ago. Jamison spoke to a small wizard standing by the fireplace, then left the room, barely acknowledging Hermione. Cormon took a handful of powder, shouted "Minister's Manor" and disappeared in a cloud of green. Hermione stepped forward to follow, but Kingsley's hand on her arm stopped her. She gave him a questioning look as he stepped closer, bending his head so he could whisper in her ear.

"I promise you I won't let anything happen to you," he whispered, his breath warm against her skin, making her shiver.

"You need to stop flirting when you're on the clock," she replied in a quiet voice.

"I'm always on the clock."

"Then I must insist you stop flirting."

He pulled back to study her. She was smirking, but her cheeks were flushed. She had pulled her knit cap back on her head, but several curls had fallen free, making his fingers itch to touch, to feel, to wrap his hand around them so he could pull her close and sink into her. Instead, he distanced himself, his eyes never wavering as she disappeared in a swirl of green. Staring at the empty fireplace, he had a sudden urge to go after her.

_What the hell is happening to me?_


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N**: **I do not own Harry Potter. Never have, never will.**

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><p>Kingsley walked through the floo just before midnight. "Cormon?"<p>

The man stepped into the room – Kingsley's private study on the manor's second floor. It had the only floo that connected to the Ministry. "Sir."

"Everything OK?"

"Everything is fine, sir. I gave Miss Granger a brief tour of the manor, including her rooms. She was quite taken with the library."

Kingsley smiled. That was a given.

"She refused to take her meal in the dining room, opting to join me in the kitchen. I hope that's all right with you. I couldn't think of a reason why she shouldn't."

"I imagine the house elves loved that."

Cormon shook his head. "She had to do some fast talking to keep them from hurting themselves."

"Like I told you when you were given this assignment, Miss Granger rarely follows expectations. I know these past few weeks haven't been easy and I'm grateful for your hard work."

Cormon maintained his neutral expression. To say he was surprised at the assignment was an understatement. Kingsley Shacklebolt didn't date. Ever. He never brought anyone to social engagements and there were no rumors of him seeing witches on the side. To find out that the man was in a committed relationship with a witch half his age was beyond a shock. To learn that the witch was Hermione Granger, quite possibly the most famous Muggle-born witch in wizardry history … Cormon thanked his years of training for keeping the shocked expression off his face.

"It's my pleasure, sir. Miss Granger is … I have not been bored."

Kingsley laughed. "No, I'm sure you haven't. Nonetheless, you've earned a day's rest. Take it and I'll see you Monday morning."

Cormon nodded and ducked into the floor. Kingsley waited for him to disappear before disconnecting the network for the night. Leaving his study, he walked down the hallway to the grand staircase that separated the three levels of the manor. The first floor was considered the public access floor, as it contained the kitchen, dining room, formal living room, what Kingsley called the public study, and conference rooms. Of course, the manor wasn't open to the public. The unplottable home was kept secret for security reasons. Only a few Ministry officials had access and Kingsley never had friends over to visit. If he had to desire to be social, he went out or entertained at his home in Salisbury.

The second and third floors were dubbed the family area. Kingsley's study was located on the second floor, along with the library, den, living room, and parlor. Bedrooms were on the third floor, including the master and lady suites. The rooms weren't connected; a fact Kingsley noticed the day he took residence. Obviously the relationships between the earlier leaders and their spouse were more political than not. Arranged marriages were common in his world, especially among pureblood families, but he was grateful his parents were a love match first, the combining of two powerful families second. He didn't have much time with them, both died of dragon pox during his seventh year at Hogwarts, but the memories he had of their laughter and obvious affection eased the pain of their absence. He promised himself if he was ever going to commit to a witch, it wouldn't be for less than what his parents had – true love and complete devotion; a partnership in every sense of the word.

Not that finding a mate was high on his list of priorities. The wizarding world was reeling from the effects of the first war when he entered the auror academy. He spent the next decade and a half building his reputation as someone not to be crossed. Working with Dumbledore, he kept an ear to the ground regarding the corruption at the Ministry, never revealing his alliance to the Order of the Phoenix as he carried out the assignments given to him by Cornelius Fudge. Severus Snape wasn't the Order's only spy, but Kingsley was determined his dual role wouldn't make him as ill-tempered as the potions professor – a pronouncement that made Snape roll his eyes when Dumbledore revealed the pair's true alliance to the other in a secret meeting.

"Going soft on me, Shacklebolt?" Snape drawled.

He smirked. "I've never had any complaints."

Taking the stairs to his bedroom, Kingsley stopped outside the closed door that led to Hermione's suite. Holding his wand, a quick reveal showed that she was inside, sleeping. For a moment, he felt regret that he didn't make it back for dinner as he promised. He could have if he wanted to, but their kiss earlier shook him for than he wanted to admit. Yes, it was a play for the crowd and the media, but the moment her lips touched his, he forgot that it was an assignment. She was warm and soft and she made him want more, so much so that he stayed away, partly to distance himself from her and partly to prove to himself that he could, though that didn't make going to bed alone any easier.

* * *

><p>Hermione sat up on a gasp, one hand clutching her wand.<p>

"Lumos," she murmured, her panting breath slowing as she looked around the room, remembering she wasn't at Hogwarts or the Burrow, but the Minister's Manor. Scooting until her back was against the bed's headboard, she said the spell in a louder voice, flooding the room with soft light.

She knew she wouldn't fall back asleep anytime soon. She hadn't had a full night's rest since leaving with Harry and Ron to hunt for horcruxes. At first it was having the sleep in shifts that disturbed her nights. Then it was remembering the torture she suffered under Bellatrix Lestrange. She relived the deaths of her loved ones in her dreams for months. Now, she didn't even know what jerked her awake every night. She no longer screamed or cried; she was practically numb to her memories of war, but something in her subconscious made a good night's rest elusive. She considered taking a sleeping drought, but she didn't want to admit to anyone, especially Harry, that she still had night terrors. They were already worried about her because of Dolohov and Yaxley; she wouldn't burden them with this, too.

Taking the book from the nightstand, Hermione opened to a new chapter and began to read, drifting off just as the sun began its slow ascent in the sky.

* * *

><p>Kingsley was on his third cup of tea when Hermione walked into the dining room close to nine the next morning.<p>

"I assumed you were an early riser, given Cormon's thinly veiled complaints about your running routine," he greeted as she took the seat on his left, smiling gratefully as he poured her a cup of coffee. Cormon's reports had been thorough. Hermione drank two cups of coffee in the morning and tea the rest of the day. She usually indulged in a hot chocolate before going to bed.

"Sunday is for sleeping," she replied after her first sip of liquid caffeine. "It took a couple of years for the boys to pound that in my head."

Kingsley snickered. "Then I imagine the surprise drill scheduled for dawn was not to their liking."

Hermione's eyes widened. Poor Harry and Ron. They were not morning people. Kingsley seemed like one, though. Dressed in dark brown trousers and a midnight blue button-down shirt, he appeared like someone who already breezed through most of his morning to-do items. He wordlessly handed her _The Daily Prophet_ and she blushed at the image of the two of them kissing on the front page.

"I haven't apologized for that," Kingsley said when she looked up.

"Do you think you need to?" She expected him to smirk in response, perhaps make a teasing comment, but instead he placed a hand over hers.

"I am willing to do what must be done to keep you safe. Given the public scrutiny of our arrangement, some of my actions, our actions, may push you out of your comfort zone, so I am going to apologize for all of them now. Just remember that your well-being is my top priority."

"It's the mission," she told him.

"It's the mission," he agreed firmly.

Both turned to their breakfasts, the conversation leaving them less than satisfied.

* * *

><p>"<em>I have to what?!"<em>

Kingsley sighed. He knew the list of public engagements was daunting. He tried to refuse as many as he could without offending anyone, but the fact of the matter was it was going to take a lot of galleons to rebuild what Voldemort had torn apart. If attending fundraisers emboldened the public to give said galleons, he'd appear at as many as necessary. Unfortunately, as his publicly-acknowledged partner, Hermione was expected to make an appearance, too.

"Kingsley, I don't know how to dine with purebloods. Most of them hate me!"

"They don't hate you."

"They hate Muggle-borns; that's me!"

"Only some purebloods feel that way – and most of them are in Azkaban," he said, his sharp voice reminding her that he was a pureblood.

Hermione nodded. "I'm sorry. A lot of what we fought against were blanket assumptions like that. I know better."

"Apology accepted."

"I'm still mad that you're making me go to a luncheon hosted by the Notts," she grumbled as she shuffled through the papers in the file Kingsley handed her.

"It's to raise money for the orphanage for children who lost parents in the war," Kingsley reminded her. "We want to make sure children like Harry and Teddy are raised in loving environments."

Hermione sighed. She couldn't argue with that. "What about the opera?"

"You don't support the arts?"

She glared at him. He sent her a jaunty smile in response.

"Ah ha," she cried, pulling out a dark green and silver invitation. "A New Year's Eve ball at Malfoy Manor. Why do we need to attend this?"

"The Malfoys are Great Britain's richest wizarding family."

"I know that."

"Then you know Lucius is desperate to regain the clout his family name use to command. An event like this will generate funds for the Ministry and give Malfoy a chance to show his benevolent side."

"Lucius Malfoy does not have a benevolent side."

Kingsley raised an eyebrow at Hermione's grumbled statement. "I thought you and Draco were friends. Didn't you say something about holding on to anger means one never truly wins?"

She let out a frustrated huff of indignation. "No one likes having their words thrown back at them, Kingsley."

He leaned over to pat her on the head. She responded back smacking him in the arm with the folder. Laughing, he picked up his copy of Hermione's schedule.

"So tomorrow you'll go with me to the Ministry and meet with Edith, who oversees your social calendar. You should take some time today to catalogue your wardrobe so she can tell you want you need to purchase -"

"I have to go shopping?"

"You like shopping. Molly told me you had a great time in London this summer."

"That was different. I didn't have to shop."

Kingsley shook his head and focused on the document. Witches were crazy. "Anything you need to purchase to subsidize your wardrobe will be covered by me. I already contacted Gringotts to add your name to my vault and -"

"No."

Kingsley looked up. "Did anyone ever tell you it's rude to interrupt?"

"You are not paying for my clothes."

He gave his focus to the paper once again. "Yes, I am."

She ripped the paper out of his hands. "No, you're not."

"Hermione, we're not arguing about this. There are events you need to attend and a certain way you need to dress at said events. I'm the reason you have to go to these events; therefore I will buy your clothing."

"I have my own money."

"Good for you. So do I."

"Stop being a pain in the ass and listen to me!"

He took the paper back from her. "No. And before you pick up your wand, may I remind you that hexing the Minister for Magic is a punishable offense?"

She studied her wand on the coffee table. The two of them were in the den, sitting on opposite ends of a long leather couch. A fire was crackling in the fireplace. Prior to Kingsley's announcement that he had a few Ministry things to discuss with her; it had been a pleasant morning.

"Don't even think about it," he warned. "I'll rescind my regrets to the Christmas Eve dinner with Pucey family and we can skip visiting the Weasleys."

Hermione sat back with a huff. "You are a hard man, Kingsley Shacklebolt."

He opened his mouth to respond and then thought better of it. Instead, he used his wand to gather all of the papers together and left them in a neat pile on the oak desk in the corner of the room. "Now that we have that out of the way, what are your plans for the afternoon?"

She looked surprised. "I was under the impression that I was to stay here unless we had to go out."

"Basically, but since my day is free, I told Andromeda Tonks that I would stop by for tea. Would you like to visit Teddy?"

Hermione's eyes lit up. She hadn't seen Remus and Tonk's son since their funeral, though Harry was a frequent visitor and sent her photographs of the chubby-faced Metamorphmagus. "I'd love to!"

* * *

><p>Hermione wasn't prepared for how much Andromeda looked like Tonks. She wasn't a Metamorphmagus like her daughter and grandson, but her face was the same. For a moment, Hermione knew what Tonks would have looked as an older woman.<p>

"Kingsley, come in!" she said, walking toward him with outstretched hands. Hermione watched as Kingsley enveloped the woman in a warm hug. She knew Tonks and Kingsley were partners when they both worked in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Apparently that relationship extended into their personal lives as well.

"And Miss Granger, it is nice to see you again," Andromeda said, holding out her hand.

"Hermione, please, Mrs. Tonks."

"Only if you'll call me Andromeda," she replied with a wink. "Now, I know I'm not the reason you're here today. Let's go see what our Teddy is up to."

She led them through a large house decorated in warm colors. Family photographs dotted the wall, including one of Tonks and Remus holding their infant son.

"Teddy loves the outdoors," Andromeda was saying as they made their way to the glass-enclosed porch at the back of the house. "I believe its part of his father's lycanthropy. He doesn't have any of the traits, though he can be a little rambunctious during the full moon. Your friend, Harry, tries to be here during that time so he can help dispel some of his energy."

"Harry is a wonderful godfather," Hermione replied.

"He is," Andromeda agreed, stepping into the room where a house elf was sitting on the floor with a blue-haired baby. "Teddy will grow up knowing he is loved."

"Teddy!" Kingsley cried, taking a seat next to the nearly nine-month-old sitting on the floor, chewing on a plastic ring. "How are you, little man?"

The baby's eyes grew wide and he gurgled something. Andromeda took a seat on the couch, talking quietly to the elf as Hermione joined Kingsley on the floor. She laughed as the little boy's hair changed from blue to black to brown, then black again.

"He doesn't know how to do shaved heads, do you Mr. Tonks?" Kingsley laughed, ruffling the little boy's colorful hair. The baby held out the ring, covered with drool, in response.

"He's beautiful," Hermione murmured, looking toward Andromeda for permission to hold him. She smiled and nodded. Hermione held out her arms and Teddy leaned forward, as if to say "OK, pick me up." Hermione did, loving the feel of his weight in her arms. She nuzzled his neck, breathing in the scent of baby powder, laughing when Teddy grabbed a handful of her hair and stuffed it in his mouth.

"OK, Teddy Bear, that's enough of that," Kingsley said, helping untangle the little boy from Hermione. "Get your own witch."

"And that's enough talk of that, Kingsley," Andromeda commanded. "I don't want you putting thoughts in my boy's mind."

"I don't know what you're implying," Kingsley grinned. "I am a gentleman."

Andromeda snorted. "My apologies, Hermione, but I've known this man too long. I don't want to frighten you, dear, but I never thought I'd live to see the day when he'd settle down with a proper lady."

Kingsley rolled his eyes, though he was secretly thrilled with Andromeda's teasing. She'd been too quiet since losing her husband, daughter, and son-in-law in the war. He continued to play with Teddy, using his wand to bounce a rubber ball high in the air and stay there, making the boy stare in awe as it defied gravity. When he got bored with that game, Kingsley lifted the boy in his arms and made swishing noises as he walked around the room.

"You are going to make him sick," Hermione cautioned from her spot on the couch next to Andromeda. The two women had been conversing quietly, their heads close together.

"This boy is tougher than that, aren't you Teddy?"

A sleepy yawn was his reply.

"I better be putting him down for his nap," Andromeda said, leaning forward to place her tea cup on the glass table in front of the couch. "If he gets even a minute off schedule, the nights are unbearable."

"Could I do it?" Hermione asked. "I'll change him and everything."

Andromeda smiled. "Of course. His room is the third floor, second door on your left. If you need help finding anything, call for Mellie."

Hermione nodded and took Teddy out of Kingsley's arms. He watched as she left the room, talking to the little boy about fairies and a visit from the Sandman, whoever that was.

"She's a pretty girl," Andromeda commented.

"She is," he agreed.

"You're half in love with her."

"Not quite, but getting - wait; what?"

Andromeda laughed. She loved Kingsley like a son, so seeing him happy Hermione Granger made her happy. After so much death, it was nice to see a young couple discover each other. "Don't play coy with me," she told the wizard, patting the couch so he'd sit down. "I know yours isn't the relationship the _Prophet_ would have the public believe."

He opened his mouth to disagree, but she held up a hand.

"I don't want to hear it," she said. "As far as I'm concerned, that girl is the best thing to ever happen to you, and I sincerely hope you don't act like every other wizard in the world and mess things up."

"Andromeda, it's not like that. It's can't be."

"Why?"

"She's only 19."

"And?"

"I'm 36."

"She's quite mature for her age and you aren't."

"I'm the Minister for Magic."

"She's one-third of the Golden Trio."

Kingsley groaned. "This isn't ... she doesn't feel that way about me. To her, I'm an assignment. I'm supposed to protect her. That's all it is."

"So when you kissed her, she didn't respond?"

Kingsley Shacklebolt didn't blush; never had, never would, but in that moment he wished for a dark hole to swallow him up. "I'm not having this conversation with you, Andromeda."

"Mmm," she hummed, taking another sip of tea. "That means she did and you liked it."

Kingsley glared at the older woman. "You are worse than your daughter."

"I believe that's the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me."


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Oh, Kingsley. For all your brains and power, you are, to quote ****_Mary Poppins _****"rather stupid." He's a noble man, so he's going to fight this attraction. I'm thinking Hermione is going to be the one to make the first move … **

* * *

><p>Hermione studied the clothes strewn about her drawing room. When she first saw her bedroom suite, the idea of a drawing room in addition to a bedroom, private bath and walk-in wardrobe seemed excessive, but she was now grateful for the additional space.<p>

Visiting with Andromeda Tonks filled her in on what would be expected of her at Tuesday's luncheon, from her wardrobe to her manners. She still didn't agree with Kingsley's declaration that he'd pay for any additions to her closet, but Andromeda had waved her cares aside.

"Hermione, the Minister's appearance is nearly as important as his policies," she said. "You, my dear, are part of that appearance."

"I have enough money to take care of myself."

"Yes, but you are also a student just starting out while he is a wealthy man who earns more than he can ever hope to spend."

Hermione shook her head. It wasn't about the money. It was about the money represents. If he bought her clothes, it was as if he was buying her, and she wouldn't have that. Andromeda noted the flash of fury in the girl's eyes and stubborn tilt of her chin.

"What about a compromise?" she proposed.

Hermione was intrigued. "Such as?"

"For every piece of clothing he buys you, buy him something in return," she suggested, trying not to laugh at her own idea. Kingsley would hate it. He may think he's evolved beyond pureblood societal expectations, but the fact of the matter is he was raised with their rules and adhered to them more often than not. "Might I suggest a visit to London for that? I know he was quite taken with some Muggle items while he was protecting their Prime Minister."

Hermione smiled. It was a devious smile. Andromeda saw a similar smile on her daughter's face many times. Oh, this was going to be entertaining.

_Knock, knock_

"Come in!" Hermione shouted.

Kingsley tentatively pushed open the door, not sure what to expect. It was nearly 2 a.m. He was on his way to bed after working for a few hours when he noticed the light under Hermione's door. Concerned, he knocked, hoping she wasn't hurt or ill. Instead, it looked as if her rooms had been hexed. Clothing was everywhere.

"Hermione?" he called, not spotting her anywhere amongst the jumpers, shoes, trousers and – she was killing him – knickers.

"Bedroom!"

He followed the sound of her voice, picking a trail among the clothing, steadfastly ignoring anything that looked like silk. Silk was bad. Focus on flannel. There was nothing enticing about flannel. At least that's what he told himself until he entered the bedroom and saw a frazzled Hermione standing by her bed, dressed in flannel pajama pants and a dark blue tank top, a quill and parchment in her hands. Her hair was piled on her head in a messy bun.

She looked like she rolled out of bed after a thorough shagging.

"What are you doing?"

"Cataloguing my wardrobe," she replied, not looking at him as she noted something on the paper.

"At two in the morning?"

"You told me to do it before I meet with Edith."

She had him there, not that he'd admit it. "I didn't mean do it in the middle of the night."

She shrugged and moved past him to go back to the drawing room, his arm brushing against the side of her breast as she passed. He sucked in his breath, quietly, and followed her. It wasn't wise to stay in her bedroom, by her unmade bed, where it would be so easy to …

" … so I think this will work for Tuesday, don't you?"

Kingsley pushed his thoughts away and focused on the witch in front of him. "What?"

"The gray dress with the red heels; it will work for the luncheon, right?"

He had no idea what she was talking about, but he liked red and he liked heels, so he nodded. Apparently that was the right answer because she smiled, made another mark on her parchment, and flopped on the couch with a happy sigh.

"I think I only need a dress for the ball … unless you want to skip it?" she looked up at him hopefully, biting her lip in that way that made him cave in the past.

"We're going," he said firmly.

She rolled her eyes and flounced back on the couch. Kingsley tried not to notice how her breasts shifted with the movement, focusing on something above her head, missing her say the spell that sent all of her clothes flying back to her wardrobe. Ducking to avoid the pair of black leather boots flying at his head, he dove onto the couch, glaring at Hermione as she laughed.

"How can one woman own so much?" he grumbled, pushing himself up so he was lounging on the opposite side from her, his back against the sofa's arm. "You wore uniforms at school."

"And that is why I went a little crazy in London," she replied, tucking her legs underneath her. "I love Hogwarts, but if I never have to wear a plaid skirt again, I'll be happy."

He did not need the mental picture of her in a plaid skirt. This was ridiculous. Was he so hard up that every statement out of her mouth led to an image of her wrapped around him?

He cleared his throat. "So, you're done now? Wardrobe figured out and set for Edith."

She nodded.

"Great. Well, I'm off to bed. I'll see you in the morning." He stood, stretched, and leaned down to kiss her on her head, not even realizing he did it until he was almost out the door. She saw him falter, then keep walking, and couldn't stop the smile from spreading on her face.

* * *

><p>"Very nice, Miss Granger."<p>

Hermione looked up from checking her red leather purse one last time to smile at Cormon, who was standing by the fireplace in Kingsley's study. As usual, his expression was neutral, but she knew "very nice" was high praise from her unobtrusive companion.

"Thank you," she replied, taking her black robe from the couch, rolling her eyes as he took it from her hands and helped her put it on.

"Do you have everything?"

She nodded and waited for him to step through the floo, following a second later, stumbling slightly on her exit. "I'm sorry," she laughed, as she bumped into Cormon. "This fireplace is a bit smaller than ..."

Her words trailed off as she looked up at the man she bumped into; not Cormon, but an amused Kingsley. He led her away from the fireplace and helped her out of her cloak, shaking off the remains of the floo powder. He moved to settle it back on her shoulders and stopped.

The dress was gray, the length hitting just below her knees and the sleeves extending all the way to her wrists, but it was fitted and hugged her in all of the right places. A wide leather belt in cherry red hugged her waist and showed off her curves, while the matching heels drew attention to her slim legs. She wore her hair in a low ponytail and minimal makeup, though her lips were painted a deep red. A red purse and chunky bracelet of red beads in varying sizes completed the ensemble.

"You look amazing," he told her in a low voice.

She smiled, her face lighting up at the compliment. "Thank you," she replied, turning her back so he could help her with her cloak. His eyes drifted to the back of her dress, again noting how nicely it hugged her body, before he realized he was staring. Clearing his throat, he placed her cloak on her shoulders and held out his arm, smiling when she took it. They walked out of the room, down the hall and to the lifts. They would apparate to Nott Manor.

Kingsley felt Hermione standing stiff next to him, her hand flexing on his arm. He placed his other hand over hers and bent low - even wearing four-inch heels, he was nearly a foot taller than her - to he could murmur in her ear, his voice quiet so that only she could hear him. "Don't be nervous. You are brilliant and gorgeous; you'll knock them dead."

* * *

><p>It was one of the rare times in his life that Kingsley wished he wasn't right. Hermione did charm everyone at the luncheon. She greeted Mr. and Mrs. Nott warmly, endearing the latter to her with a well-placed compliment about Theo's intelligence and how he challenged her at Hogwarts. She managed to do the same with Blaise Zabini's mother, Mr. and Mrs. Flint, and even made Narcissa Malfoy nod her head in acknowledgement. She was attentive during the keynote speaker's presentation and approached the woman after with questions that made those near them take note and, in some case, double the amount of their initial donation.<p>

They were separated for a short while before the actual lunch. Kingsley watched as Andromeda – he didn't know she was attending – pulled Hermione into a cluster of her friends. He shifted so he could listen to Nott give his opinion about the Order of Merlin nominations the Wizengamot would debate after the first of the year, but kept an eye on Hermione as she was led through the crowded room. She was the youngest witch in attendance, but her intelligence and charm made it seem like she had attended these see-and-be-seen events for years.

"How are you?" he whispered as she took her chair on his right.

"Mind-numbingly bored," she whispered back. "You?"

"The same."

She picked up her fork and took a bite of her salad, tuning out the buzz of conversation as she picked around the mushrooms that dotted her plate. This wasn't her thing, but she enjoyed Madame Pluck's presentation and hoped today's event would secure the funds needed for the orphanage's addition. She already decided to dip into the savings her parents had earmarked for University to contribute to the orphanage's scholarship fund. Perhaps one of those children will find a home at Hogwarts, too.

The salad was replaced with a chicken dish, just like Andromeda predicted during her rundown of societal lunches. Hermione looked up and caught the woman's eye two tables away, smirking when she winked.

"Do I want to know?" Kingsley asked under his breath.

She shook her head, looking down at her plate until the urge to laugh subsided.

"I have to ask," Elenia Nott said, studying the couple. "However did you to meet?"

Hermione looked at Kingsley. They worked on their cover story the night before, keeping the details as close to the truth as possible.

Kingsley cleared his throat. "I've known Hermione for years. My work with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and her association with Harry Potter meant our worlds collided a few times."

"Collide being the key word," Hermione added, placing her hand on Kingsley's. Everyone laughed like he said they would. "Of course, it would be years before he saw me as anything more than a teenager with a penchant for trouble."

"It's true," he continued, turning his hand over so he could hold hers. "It wasn't until the memorial services that I realized she didn't need my protection anymore. I needed hers."

Elenia looked confused. "I don't understand."

Kingsley turned toward Hermione and smiled. "I needed her to save me from myself. I was so caught up in the aftermath of the war, working all of the time … I was this close to burning out when she came up to me, demanded I take a break, and made me leave my office."

Hermione laughed as she looked around the table. "He makes it sound like a kidnapped him! All I did was take him to London for lunch, somewhere where he could be Kingsley Shacklebolt, not the Minister for Magic."

"As I'm sure many of your children can tell you, Hermione does not let up once she has a project. Making sure I didn't exhaust myself became hers over the summer. She'd make me go to dinner, bring me tea. We spent a Saturday afternoon at a Muggle zoo, which was an experience," Kingsley chuckled, noting how everyone was hanging on his every word. "By the time she had to return to Hogwarts, that was it. I was hers," he said, leaning over to kiss her lightly on the lips.

All of the women at the table sighed.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Two chapters in one day? Yay!**

**Hermione needs someone on her side. Someone who isn't Andromeda. Harry and Ron won't understand and Ginny doesn't know the full plan. Who does that leave? (Make your guess now and read on to see if you're right. If you are, let me know!)**

**I still do not own Harry Potter. Sigh.**

* * *

><p>She studied the photograph at breakfast, ignoring Walter's sighs as he passed by the table in the kitchen. Kingsley was already gone when she woke up that morning; she refused to have her meals in the dining room if she was alone.<p>

"It isn't right Missy Granger," Walter said every time she sat at the kitchen table, his large ears flattening against his skull. He was quite judgmental for a house elf. Hermione knew Walter originally worked for Kingsley's parents. She wondered if years of service equaled familiarity, but Walter wasn't much for conversation beyond commenting on her lack of proper decorum.

"I'll have my breakfast in the dining room if you join me for tea," Hermione told Walter, hiding her grin as his eyes grew wide.

"Missy Granger! You is getting me in trouble!"

_Pop!_ Walter disappeared. Like Dobby, he could apparate in places it wasn't allowed.

Giggling, Hermione turned back to _The Daily Prophet_. She liked the picture. It was taken just as Kingsley finished kissing her. A bit of her lipstick was on his lips, so she had reached up to wipe it off with her thumb. When she pulled away, he captured her hand in his and brought her thumb to his lips for a quick kiss, his eyes locked on hers the entire time.

Hermione set down the paper and sat perfectly still. Anyone who looked at her would think she was in a trance. She wasn't. She was thinking. Hard.

She wanted him.

She knew she was attracted to him. Physically, he was a beautiful man; he really was tall, dark and handsome. His eyes were a deep chocolate that could twinkle with amusement, turn cold when he was serious, and burn with intensity. His voice was deep, strong and could make her melt in a puddle of hormones with just one word. His smile got him what he wanted; that's why he used it liberally and his hands … He always had amazing hands – large and firm with just enough callouses to show he was not an idle man.

He was caring and kind. He visited Teddy and Andromeda regularly. She knew he thought of Andromeda as a friend and surrogate mother, and loved Teddy as much as he loved the boy's parents. Harry may be his godfather, but Kingsley was Teddy's favorite uncle.

He worked hard. Hermione didn't have much respect for the Ministry's previous leaders – granted Fudge was an idiot and Thicknesse was Voldemort's puppet – but Kingsley's work ethic far exceeded theirs. He didn't let his ego, or public scrutiny, stop him from doing what's right.

He was loyal. Hermione knew from Harry he wasn't a fan of Ron's plan when he first proposed it, but you wouldn't know it from the way he welcomed her into his home and life. He made her feel welcome, at ease. When they left the luncheon, he walked her to his office, shutting the door so she could finally laugh without anyone hearing. He predicted how everyone would react to their "how we got together" story, right down to every chuckle and sigh. He leaned against the door, smiling, as she giggled. When she stopped, he simply held out his hand and she gave him 10 galleons.

He knew they would laugh at the collide comment. Dammit.

She licked her lips, remembering how his felt on hers. Their first kiss at King's Cross – it took nearly everything she had not to leap in his arms and demand more. Every time he kissed her hand, the inside of her wrist, her knees went weak. Even that breath of a kiss at lunch made her blood boil.

Yes, she wanted him. Desperately.

"Missy Granger? Is you all right?"

Hermione looked at Walter as he cleared away her breakfast dishes, a small smile on her face. "I am, Walter. Tell me, does the Minister have an owl I can borrow?"

* * *

><p>"Where are you going, Miss Granger?"<p>

"We, Cormon, are going to Diagon Alley," Hermione said, holding out her arm so he could help with the clasp of her chunky gold bracelet. He attached the fastener without thinking about his actions. Later, he would claim it was because he was trying to figure out how to talk her out of her impromptu outing.

"Miss, we haven't been cleared –"

"Come on, Cormon! I've been stuck in this manor for more than a week! I'm tired of reading. Do you know what it means when I'm tired of reading?"

"No?" he asked.

"Me neither because it has never happened before!"

She sat on the couch in the library with a huff. She knew there was a chance Cormon would veto her plan, but she had to try. While it was highly suggested she stay at the manor when Kingsley was at the Ministry, no one ever demanded she stay put. Besides, Christmas was a few days away and she still had presents to buy. And maybe she'd stop by a few stores to look at gowns for the New Year's Eve Ball. It would be a productive trip, a necessary trip; at least that's what Hermione was prepared to say if Kingsley confronted her.

Cormon sighed. "I'm going to want another person on you."

She ran over to hug him. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

He was already regretting it.

* * *

><p>"So, you want to jump Kingsley and he's not having it?"<p>

Hermione laughed. "I wouldn't say it as crass as that, but yes. What do I do?"

George leaned against the kitchen counter, tea forgotten, as he studied Hermione. She had grown so much in the eight years he'd known her. Well, not in inches – she was a tiny thing, even with those high heels she loved to wear – but she was no longer the bushy-haired, big-toothed, know-it-all he and his brother befriended third year. Her hair was still long, but more curly than bushy. She liked to say she grew into her hair the way she grew into her teeth. George just loved the whole package. She was slim without being too skinny, curvy without extra weight. Wearing blue skinny jeans and a silky green top that draped over firm breasts, George wondered what was wrong with Kingsley to ignore the delectable package in front of him.

"Judging from the photos I've seen, you're doing pretty well on your own," George said, turning to take the screaming tea kettle off the stove, grinning when he heard Hermione's groan of frustration. He always wondered what kind of man would knock her off of her game. Fred once declared Sirius Black the wizard for Hermione. He'd approve of Kingsley; the man had just enough danger to him to shake up Granger. Their girl needed that.

George's hand shook slightly at the thought of his brother. Hermione must have noticed because she was by his side, arm wrapped around his waist, leaning into him.

"I hate this," he whispered.

"I hate it, too."

"I miss him."

"I know."

"There are some days it's almost bearable, you know. I can go to work. I can see the things we made together, and it's OK. But then I'll laugh and I hate myself. Why am I laughing? Fred is dead! Why should any of us ever laugh again?"

Hermione wrapped both arms around George, hugging him tight, her heart breaking as he cried. He buried his face in his curls and let himself go, grateful she was there. He tried not to cry in front of his parents anymore. They missed Fred, too. It was the same with his brothers, with Ginny, but he didn't have to pretend with Hermione. She understood. He and Fred had held her when she learned Bellatrix murdered her parents. She crawled into Fred's bed with George the night of Fred's funeral, staying up all night sharing stories of his antics. She helped him through the longest night of his life. He would love her forever for that.

George sniffed, feeling a little better. He moved to back away, but she tightened her arms, giving them both another moment. "I messed up your hair," he muttered, trying to tuck curls back into her braid.

She laughed. "It wouldn't be the first time," she told him, stepping back to study him through narrowed eyes.

He knew that look. She was going to ask questions. He wasn't in the mood for questions. He didn't want to talk about Fred, he just needed to cry. Now that he had, he felt a little better. You know what else would make him feel better?

Plotting.

"All right, Granger," he said, taking his tea and waiting for her to grab hers before walking into his living room and taking a seat on the purple couch. "What are we going to do to get the Minister naked and in your bed?"

She laughed, snorting tea up her nose.

* * *

><p>Hermione flipped through a selection of dresses at Twilfitt and Tatting's, wrinkling her nose in distaste. She wasn't going to find anything here and she already tried Madam Malkin's. She wondered if she could talk Cormon into going to London. Not today, of course; it was getting late and she should probably head back to the manor. Glancing at Cormon as she walked toward him, she took in his pained expression and decided London was out for tomorrow, too. The poor man looked like he needed a break.<p>

"Finished?" he asked, his tone hopeful.

She laughed and nodded. After spending a couple of hours with George, Hermione stopped in nearly every shop along Diagon Alley, searching for the perfect presents to round out her Christmas list. Cormon and Balene, the blond-haired auror who joined them, tolerated the first hour of shopping with no comment. The sighs started the second hour. Both men looked defeated the third.

"Thank you so much for taking me out today," she told Cormon as they walked out of the store, Balene a few steps ahead. Cormon opened his mouth, but the explosion drowned out his words.

* * *

><p>"Kingsley!"<p>

Kingsley stopped on his way to the lift, his body automatically going on high alert as Harry came running down the corridor, Ron on his heels.

"We just heard!" Harry panted. "An attack in Diagon Alley!"

"Hermione's there!" Ron added.

Kingsley was gone before Ron finished speaking.

* * *

><p>Hermione dove to the ground, using the smoke from the explosion as camouflage as she crawled to Cormon, ignoring the screams of panic around her. "Be OK. Please be OK," she whispered as she ran her hands over him, breathing a sigh of relief at the faint pulse in his neck.<p>

"Hermione!"

She recognized Balene's voice. She couldn't see him but she was glad he was unhurt. "I'm fine!" she shouted.

"And Cormon?"

"He's hurt, but –"

The blast of red light cut her off. Hermione ducked, avoiding the hex. She sent one of her own in same direction before casting a shield charm around her and Cormon. Two more hexes came their way, but her shield held. She couldn't see where they were coming from or who was casting them. The smoke was too thick.

"Hermione!"

"Harry?" Hermione let down the shield, searching for her friend. Seconds later she was flung back with the force of the curse aimed in her direction, landing against the brick wall next to Twilfitt and Tatting's, her head bashing against the hard surface. She slid boneless to the ground as everything went dark.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: The dreaded cliffhanger. Sorry; had to do it! But at least I don't make you wait forever and ever for the next update. I'm not that mean, right?**

**For legalities' sake, I don't own Harry Potter.**

* * *

><p>"Hermione? Can you hear me?"<p>

Her head felt heavy, like it was too full. There was pounding, a constant drumming behind her temples. It was sticky, wet.

"Here. Press this on the wound. Hard."

She flinched. It hurt.

"I know, love; I'm sorry."

"We need help over here!"

Arms. Strong arms. Wrapping. Lifting.

"Sir, I need you to –"

"I've got her."

Then nothing.

* * *

><p>"What were you thinking?"<p>

"I wasn't, sir."

"You've got that right! You know who's after her."

"Our first sweep while she was visiting Mr. Weasley didn't show -"

"I don't want to hear it! She could have been killed."

"Why wasn't she?"

Kingsley whipped his head around, certain he'd misunderstood Harry.

"I mean, she was just lying there. No one was around. They could have grabbed her, but they didn't. Why?"

Kingsley pinched his nose with his fingers. Harry had a point. He arrived at Diagon Alley in time to see Hermione flying, her body crumpling as she hit the brick wall. He ran towards her, unaware of the curses thrown his way. He saw two figures approach her. For one panic-stricken second he was terrified. He was too late.

And suddenly they were gone and she was still there. She was pale, unconscious, and blood was streaming down her face, but she was alive.

He studied the girl lying in the hospital bed. She looked small, delicate. Her arms were bruised and bandaged. She had yet to open her eyes. The healer said she was OK; some scrapes, a few burns, and a concussion from when her head hit the wall, but she'd make a full recovery. She needed to rest and would likely be discharged tomorrow. He pulled a chair to the side of her bed and sat.

"You're dismissed," he told Cormon in a cold voice, unable to look at the man.

"Yes, sir."

"Harry, go tell the Arthur and Molly Hermione is fine. I'll contact them tomorrow."

"I can stay with her."

"I'll stay. Go."

He waited until the room was empty before he took Hermione's hand in his, lifting it to his lips. "I'm here, love. I've got you."

* * *

><p>She stretched. She felt stiff. Sore. She didn't know where she was. This bed didn't feel familiar. She remembered an explosion. Screams.<p>

"Cormon!" she sat up, her head whipping around in panic.

"He's fine," Kingsley told her, his expression unreadable as he studied her. Her eyes were wide, frightened. "Hermione, he's fine," he repeated. "A few scratches; that's all."

She looked at him, her face anxious. "It was my fault," she said, grasping his hand, her voice raspy. "Don't be mad at him, please!"

Kingsley let go of her hand and walked to the side table, pouring her a glass of water. "I am mad at him."

"But I made him do it," she said, taking the cup Kingsley handed her and drinking it empty in three gulps. Her throat felt like it was on fire. "I told him I needed to finish my Christmas shopping, look for a ball gown …"

"He could have said no," Kingsley told her, refilling the glass for her. "He should have said no."

She drank some more. It helped. She leaned back on the bed, studying Kingsley. He was mad. She could tell by the tightness of his lips. He wanted to yell, but he wouldn't. She wished he would. She made a mistake; a stupid mistake. She was foolish and Cormon got hurt. She didn't want him to get in trouble. She didn't want Kingsley to be mad it her. She sniffed. She wasn't going to cry. Crying didn't help anything.

Kingsley's eyes softened. "Go back to sleep, love. We'll talk later."

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

He leaned over, his hands brushing her hair away from her face as he kissed her on her forehead. "I'm sorry I wasn't there."

"It's not your fault," she mumbled, closing her eyes.

* * *

><p>Who designed this chair? A man could barely sit in it, let alone sleep. He shifted, wincing at the pop in his back as he tried to find a comfortable position. It wasn't happening. He glanced at the bed. She had yet to stir. Her breaths were deep, even. The mediwitch was just there, checking her vitals, and said everything looked good. She would be discharged in a few hours. He sighed, stretching his legs as he leaned back, eyes closed, willing sleep to come.<p>

_Not happening, Kings._

Screw it. With the wave of his wand, he enlarged the bed. Kicking off his shoes, he moved to its side, pulling back the covers so he could slide in. He wasn't going to touch her; he was just going to sleep. Lying back, his arms folded behind his head, he stared unseeing at the ceiling, several inches between his body and hers. She moved, her body shifting closer to his. Sighing in defeat, he wrapped an arm around her, pulling her closer when as she snuggled into his side. He kissed the top of her head and rested his cheek against her soft curls.

"What am I going to do with you?"

* * *

><p>"Kingsley, put me down!"<p>

"No," he said, striding down the path to the manor, ignoring her as she struggled to get out of his arms. He woke up first that morning, shrinking the bed and moving back to the chair minutes before she opened her eyes. The smile she gave him was wary, cautious, so he reacted the same way. Neither one spoke as the healer did one final check, declaring her fit to leave.

"Be sure to rest," the healer said. "I know the holidays are busy, but you were rundown before the attack. Your body needs more sleep and you could stand to gain some weight. Go ahead and indulge with the sweets everyone makes this time of year."

Hermione smiled and promised to take better care of herself. Kingsley shook the healer's hand and echoed her statement. He stood out in the hall as she changed, taking her by the elbow as they left St. Mungo's, into a crowd of reports and photographers.

"Miss Granger, why were you attacked?"

"Is it true she's connected to a plot to make the Dark Lord rise again?"

"Mr. Minister, why would you attach yourself to someone who can't be trusted?"

His hand tightened on her arm. She placed hers over his and squeezed, her touch soothing him. Ignoring the crowd, he pulled her close for a side-along apparition, the two of them arriving just beyond the wards at the Minister's Manor. She opened her mouth to say something, her words turning into a squeak of surprise when he swept her into his arms.

"I'm perfectly capable of walking on my own," she huffed, resigned to the fact that he was too strong for her and she wouldn't be getting down until he let her.

"You heard what the healer said," he replied, eyes forward. "You need to rest."

"He didn't say I couldn't walk," she protested.

He didn't reply, not that she expected him to. He had barely looked at her since she opened her eyes that morning. He didn't seem as angry as he had when she woke up in the middle of the night. She would prefer that instead of the distance thing he was doing now.

Walter had the door open before Kingsley even walked up the front steps.

"Please bring tea to Miss Granger's room," Kingsley told the elf as he made his way the stairs.

"Yes, Mr. Minister."

"I don't suppose my telling you I'm not tired will make a difference," Hermione frowned.

"You would be right," he replied, his jaw set.

She huffed. He glared. Walter must have informed another elf of their arrival because the covers on Hermione's bed were pulled back, the pillows fluffed with her favorite pajamas folded on top of them when Kingsley walked into her bedroom. He finally put her down, stepping back as Walter appeared with a pot of tea, two cups, and a plate of sandwiches, setting the tray on the nightstand.

"Thank you, Walter, but I'm really not hungry -"

"Thank you, Walter. She'll eat every bite," Kingsley interrupted.

The elf stared at the two people glaring at each other, his eyes wide. He rarely saw the master this upset. Not wanting to linger, he disappeared without a sound.

"I'm not a child, Kingsley."

He snorted. "I seem to remember you telling me that once before. When was that? Oh yes, when you were planning to sneak out of your dormitory and walk around Hogwarts without security."

"This wasn't the same thing!"

"Did you ask me about it?" he shouted. "No, because you knew I'd say no!"

"You'd say no?" she repeated, her eyes flashing with anger. She fisted her hands on her hips and glared at him. "When did you become the person who makes my decisions?"

"When we decided it was my job to keep you safe!"

"I didn't decide!" she yelled.

"Considering your lack of judgment, it's a wonder you're allowed to decide anything!"

She opened her mouth to say something, but shut it. He was right. She didn't want to admit it, but he was. Her visit to Diagon Alley was ill-advised. Cormon was hurt because of it and she managed to scare a lot of people who care about her. She had no right to be mad at Kingsley. "I'm sorry," she said, forcing herself to look Kingsley in the eye. "What I did was thoughtless and irresponsible. I didn't mean to scare you."

He wanted to keep yelling at her. He wanted to yell until he felt better, but he couldn't when she looked at him like that. Sighing, he reached out and pulled her into his arms, resting his chin on top of her head. Slowly, tentatively, she wrapped her arms around him.

"I'm still mad at you," he grumbled.

"OK."

"I'm still mad at Cormon."

"I understand."

"He's going to remain yours," Kingsley continued. "Be prepared for him not to give an inch."

"I understand," she repeated with a sigh.

"And we're still going to the New Year's Eve ball at the Malfoys. Almost being killed doesn't get you out of that."

She smiled at his teasing tone, her cheek resting against his chest. "I still need a dress."

"We'll work something out," he promised. "For now, though, can you please do something for me?"

She pulled back. "What?"

"Eat. Rest. You look exhausted."

She rolled her eyes. "You really do know how to sweet talk a girl, don't you?"

"Do you want me to yell again? I will."

She shook her head, stepping out of his arms. She was finished yelling. She walked to the bed and picked up her pajamas. Resting didn't sound like a bad idea, but she wanted to shower first. Her hair still smelled like smoke. "Who's staying with me when you go back to the Ministry?"

"I'm not going in today."

"What? You took a day off? Is that even legal?"

He smiled at her. "I'm the Minister for Magic. I'll make it legal."

She smiled back, glad that the earlier tension was gone. "So what are your plans for the day?"

"I still have work to do, but I can do it here," he told her.

She looked down at the flannel set in her arms, her fingers plucking at a loose thread. "Were you going to work in your study?"

"I was planning on it. Why?"

"Would you … I mean, if it wasn't a bother …"

He walked forward, tucking a hand under her chin, forcing her to look at him. "What do you want, Hermione?"

She swallowed. "Will you stay with me? I don't want to be alone."

"Of course."

* * *

><p>She thought it would be awkward, but it wasn't. After agreeing to stay with her, he left her room to shower and change while she ran to her bathroom to do the same. She was in bed when he returned, a book in her lap, munching on her second sandwich. He raised an eyebrow and smiled, but didn't say anything, settling on the other side of the bed with a few files. He was wearing navy blue pajama pants and a gray T-shirt that hugged his chest and torso, reminding her of his strength and what it felt like when she was pressed against him.<p>

Adverting her eyes, she fumbled for the plate of sandwiches, passing it to him, waiting until she regained her composure to hand him a cup of tea. They passed the hour in comfortable silence, eating and reading. When her head started to hurt, Kingsley summoned a pain potion and told her to get some rest. She burrowed into the blankets, smiling when he set his papers aside and did the same.

"I can't remember the last time I took a nap in the middle of the afternoon," he mumbled.

"You are such a rebel," she giggled.

* * *

><p>It was dark when she sat up, her heart pounding.<p>

"Lumos."

She turned toward Kingsley's voice.

"Are you OK?" he asked, shifting so he was sitting against the headboard.

She nodded, the dredges of her nightmare already fading away. "What time is it?"

"A little after 10; are you hungry?"

She nodded again, pushing her hair away from her sweaty forehead as Kingsley called Walter. Moments later, they had trays in their laps, the scent of homemade chicken noodle soup making Hermione's stomach growl in appreciation. She blushed as she ate, but said nothing, aware that he was watching her in that calculating way when he was trying to figure something out.

"How often do you have nightmares?"

"Every night," she whispered.

"About what?"

She shrugged. "I don't even remember anymore. Everything is just dark and I wake up."

"Are you able to go back to sleep?"

"Eventually."

He got out of bed, taking her tray and his into her drawing room. When he walked back into the bedroom, he didn't reclaim his space, but crawled into her side, shifting so her back was to his front. He wrapped an arm around her waist. "Nox," he breathed into her neck, his breath warm on her skin as the rom faded to darkness.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm staying so you can sleep," he murmured, pulling her closer. Kissing behind her ear, he smiled when he felt her shiver.

"I don't think this falls under your protection duties," she told him, placing her hand over his, smiling when he laced his fingers through hers.

"Job perk," he replied. "Good night, Hermione."

"Good night."


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Originally chapter 12 was part of chapter 11, but then it got really long, so I split them up. So while this feels like two chapters in one day, it's really isn't. I don't know why I felt the need to confess that.**

**I don't own Harry Potter.**

* * *

><p>Hermione opened her eyes slowly, not quite sure how long they've were closed. It was morning. Morning. Her eyes snapped open in shock. She couldn't remember the last time she slept until morning. She felt ... she felt amazing. Rested. Refreshed. She went to stretch, but an arm around her waist prohibited her movement, tightening and pulling her closer to the warm body at her back.<p>

"It's early," Kingsley grumbled.

Giggling softly, she twisted in his arms, snorting when he refused to let her go, but loosened his grasp enough so that she could roll over and face him. He kept his eyes closed, but had an impish grin. She raised her hand to brush at the day-old scruff on his face. It was softer than she imagined. She moved closer, one of her legs sliding over both of his, as she rubbed her cheek against his.

"You're killing me, love," he groaned.

His confession was as good as an invitation to continue as far as she was concerned. Bringing her hands up to frame his face, she kissed him first on one cheek, then the other. She followed that with a kiss on his forehead, the tip of his nose, the underside of his jaw.

"Hermione," he whispered.

"Hmm?"

"Kiss me."

She smiled and leaned forward, her lips just a breath away from his. "And if I don't."

He opened his eyes. They were dark with yearning. "Don't push me," he warned. "You've had me on the edge of sanity for days."

"Only days?" she replied breathlessly. "Kingsley, I've wanted you for weeks."

She barely finished the sentence when he pounced, flipping her to her back, his mouth hot on hers. She moaned as he traced her lips with his tongue. "You taste so good," he gasped, his breathing harsh as kissed his way down her neck before repeating the trail with his tongue. He shifted so he was lying directly on top of her, his cock nestled in the juncture of her thighs. She could feel how hard he was, how ready. She whimpered as he slid one hand beneath her thigh, lifting her leg to rest it on his shoulder, forcing him deeper. "Gods, Hermione, ever since our kiss at the train station, I've been ready for you, hard for you. I want to bury myself inside you and never come out. I want to feel your legs wrapped around me, listen to you pant as I move inside you …" He moved his hips, thrusting harder into her softness, his excitement increasing as he watched her eyes go dark with lust. "Come on, love, move with me. Show me what it's going to feel like when I'm inside you, when you're dripping with excitement."

She cried out, wrapping her arms around his neck, pulling his head down so she could kiss him. His words were killing her. She couldn't focus on what he was saying, what he was doing. There was a roar in her head, a pounding that threatened to decimate her. She ached so much. She wanted too much. She needed him. God, how she needed him. She pressed the heel of her foot on the mattress, lifting her hips to meet his thrusts. He groaned into her mouth. "Yes, love, like that. You are going to feel amazing. You've got me so close already."

"Please," she whispered, pulling away from him, holding his face in her hands.

"Please what, baby? Tell me what you want, what you need."

"Love me," she begged, arching up, her breasts rubbing against his chest while his cock stroked her core. "Don't make me wait anymore … _please_."

It would be so easy to take off her clothes, to rip the flannel from her body, her sweet, tight body, and dive into her. He could feel how wet she was, He could smell her excitement. Her eyes were wide, her swollen lips parted as she struggled for breath. He wanted her. He couldn't remember the last time he wanted someone this much.

"Now!" she shouted, clawing at his shirt, dragging it up his body and lifting it over his head. She threw it across the room and stared at the sculpted chest above her, his beautiful dark skin over tight muscles. She ran her hands over him, purring in appreciation. He closed his eyes and let her explore, hissing when she leaned forward to trace the tattoo over his heart, a rising phoenix, with her tongue.

_Pop!_

Hermione shrieked at Walter's appearance, pushing Kingsley aside and diving under the covers.

"Mr. Minister, Mr. Jamison is here," he announced, unaware of what he interrupted.

Kingsley flopped on his back with a frustrated grunt, the appearance of his house elf effectively killing the mood

"Mr. Minis –"

"I'll be there in a minute," he growled.

Walter left as quickly as he came. Kingsley ran his hand down his face and studied the lump in the bed. "Hermione?" he said, pushing aside pillows, searching for her among the covers. "Love, stop hiding."

"I am never leaving this bed," she yelled, her voice muffled by the pile of blankets.

Kingsley stifled the urge to laugh. He had enough self preservation to know she wouldn't see the humor of the situation. "Any other day, I would be in full support of that plan, but I've got to go."

"Then go!"

He sighed. "I can't until I know you're all right. Love, don't worry about it. Walter is an elf. He pops in on things all the time -"

She threw the covers off and sat up, her face flushed, eyes flashing. "Really?" she scowled. "You find yourself like this often?"

Damn. That was not what he meant.

"No, I …"

"What? You just said he pops in on you all the time, so either this is something you do with others often or maybe you meant he stumbles on you when you're alone."

His eyes narrowed. "Don't be cruel, Hermione."

"No, I think I'm on to something here," she continued, moving backwards until she standing on the other side of the bed. "While I'm happy to have given you a bit of a thrill this morning, I think I'm ready to shower and get ready for the day. I'll leave you to finish things on your own."

He threw back the covers and grabbed her, pulling her back onto the bed. She laughed as she tried to break out of his hold, again gasping for breath, but for a completely different reason.

"You're going to pay for that, witch!" he growled, flipping her facedown, his body covering hers. He ran his hands down her side lightly, smirking when she sucked in her breath and wiggled. "Ticklish, love?"

"Don't!" she cried.

"Huh," he said, dragging his fingers up her side again, this time going underneath her flannel top, his fingers pressed against her warm skin. "Who would've have thought a celebrated warrior would be brought down by something so innocent?"

She pressed her knees into the mattress and tried to buck Kingsley off, but he was too heavy. Laughing, he shifted so his upper body was to her side. Moving her hair off of her neck, he kissed her lightly, allowing his tongue to lick, to taste. She sighed. He could feel her body melt against his. Merlin, she was so responsive. When he had her – it was no longer a question of if, he _would _have her - she was going to be incredible.

"I have to go," he whispered, his voice heavy with regret.

She turned her head, lifting it slightly to kiss him, nipping his bottom lip.

"Fuck," he groaned, running his hand down her tousled curls. Pressing his lips to hers in a bruising kiss, he forced himself to get up and walk out of her bedroom.

Jamison was going to have to wait. He needed a cold shower. Now.

* * *

><p>Kingsley stepped through the fireplace, the beginnings of a headache throbbing in his temple. He never wanted to answer another question as long has he lived. If Voldemort rose again for the sole purpose of eradicating the media, he would seriously consider joining his cause.<p>

_Death Eaters Attack Diagon Alley_

_It seems trouble doesn't need to look further than Hermione Granger._

_The so-called brightest witch of her age was injured in a surprise attack outside of Twilfitt and Tatting's yesterday afternoon. Witnesses said several Death Eaters sent hexes toward the upscale boutique, causing an explosion that decimated one wall of the store._

_This is the first public attack since Harry Potter defeated Lord Voldemort in May. The fact that the attack was on Granger raises questions. Does the young witch have ties to the Dark Lord? Is her relationship with Minister of Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt part of a scheme to usurp the Wizarding World yet again? _

_"__That is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard," Deputy Minister of Magic Arthur Weasley said. "Hermione Granger was honored for her fight against Lord Voldemort. His defeat came at great sacrifice to her. To suggest she would have anything to do with bringing him back to life is preposterous."_

_Yet witnesses say the witch was unconscious and unguarded following the attack, and still Shacklebolt was able to whisk her away to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries without interference._

Kingsley crumpled _The Daily Profit_ tossing it in the air, muttering "Incendio" to light it on fire for good measure. Feeling a little better, he walked down the hall, following the sound of voices. He leaned against the doorway to the library, watching as Hermione, sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the fireplace, tied a sparkly silver ribbon around a large box wrapped in blue paper with silver stars. He tried to muffle his laugh as she gestured for Cormon to place his finger in the middle of the bow, but failed.

The auror looked up and blushed. "Sir."

"Cormon."

Hermione looked over, a smile on her face. "You're home early."

"Christmas Eve," Kingsley said, walking in and sitting on the leather couch. "Even politics take a break this time of year."

Cormon stood up. "Do you need me for anything?"

Kingsley shook his head. "I think you've done your penance. Happy Christmas, Cormon."

"Happy Christmas, Minister; Miss Granger," Cormon replied, walking to the door.

"Wait!" Hemrione dug through the pike of wrapped presented piled on the floor. Taking out a red package with green paper, she jumped up and walked to Cormon, handing it to him with a big smile. "Happy Christmas."

Cormon smiled and walked away.

"You bought Cormon a present?"

"I bought Walter a present, though after this morning, I think you better give it to him."

Kingsley chuckled. "I hope it isn't clothes."

She stuck her tongue out at him. She learned a long time ago that when it came to house elves, Dobby was an anomaly. Straightening her mess, she glanced over at Kingsley, who was stretched out on the couch, eyes closed. "What time do we leave for the Weasleys?"

"In light of what happened at Diagon Alley, I don't think we should go to the Burrow tonight."

Hermione shoulders slumped. She was afraid he would say that. Looking at the pile of presents, she wondered how many owls it would take to deliver them.

"That's why everyone is coming here," Kingsley continued.

She looked up. "What?"

His eyes were still closed, but he was smiling. "I talked to Arthur and he agreed. Molly still insisted on cooking. I'm not sure how that's going to work."

Hermione ran around the table and jumped in Kingsley's lap, throwing her arms around his neck. "This is perfect! There's more than enough room. Oh! Andromeda and Teddy; are they coming here, too? Are we going to do presents up here or should we move to one of the downstairs rooms? They're a little stuffy, but I can do some charms to add a bit of holiday cheer. What if we -"

"Hermione," Kingsley laughed, unwrapping her arms so he could pull back. "Breathe. You're still supposed to be resting."

"Forget it!" she cried, grabbing his hands and pulling him off the couch. "We have to make this place look amazing! Where do you want to do this?"

"Oh, I can think of a lot of places to do things," he drawled, his movements predatory as he appraoched her.

"Kingsley," she warned, holding a hand out as she backed up.

"Hermione," he echoed, still walking forward as she moved back, stopping only when she was against the wall. He quickly brought his hands up on either side of her, blocking her exit. He stepped closer, bringing his face near hers and nuzzling her neck. "I was worthless today," he confessed, breathing in the scent of her. "All I could think about was how you look when you're on your back, staring up at me. All I could hear were those breathless little sounds you make when you're wound up. All I could smell was your excitement. I wanted you on the conference table, spread before me so I could taste you. I wanted you bent over my desk, screaming my name as I moved inside you. I wanted you in my chair, riding me as I licked your breasts, sucking on your nipples and biting just enough to make you want more."

She swallowed. If man could make her melt with just his words, what would he be like in bed? Could she handle him? "You are such a politician, Kingsley."

"And you are the most beautiful woman I've ever seen," he whispered, running his tongue along the shell of her ear. "I want you, Hermione. I'm dying to taste you, to touch you, to fuck you. I want to make love to you until neither one of us can move."

She stared at him, eyes wide. He stared back, head cocked to the side as he waited for her to make a decision. He didn't realize he was holding his breath until she smiled and slid her hands slowly up his chest, linking them behind his head.

"Make sure Walter is busy," she demanded, going up on her toes to kiss him, laughing when he slid his hands down her back to cup her arse, boosting her up so she was in his arms, her legs locked around his waist.

"Done," he promised.

* * *

><p><strong>See? Chapter 11 was a really long chapter, which is why I broke it in two. Yes, there's another cliffhanger, but at least no one is in trouble this time. Or at least it's the yummy kind of trouble ... <strong>


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: I received a lovely comment from a reader in France. My high school French teacher would be happy to know I was able to figure it out without the help of Google Translate! Hugs to all of you for reading and commenting. I'm happy you're enjoying the story and coming around to this pairing.**

**I still don't own Harry Potter.**

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><p>She was laughing when she brought her head down and pressed her lips to him, her tongue darting out to tangle with his. He took a step forward, pressing her against the wall so he could deepen the kiss, using his tongue, his teeth. She wiggled, as if to get down from his grasp, but he wasn't ready to let her go. She fit in his arms as if she was made for him. She was so small, he could support her weight with one arm easy, leaving his other free to touch, which he did as he walked out of the library, her giggles turning to sighs as he ran one hand up her side, grazing her breast.<p>

"Again," she pleaded, shivering when he repeated the action, a bit slower with more pressure. She arched into his touch, her head going back. Kingsley ran his tongue along her exposed neck, smiling when he felt the jump in her pulse.

Bed. He should take her to his bed. He wanted to lay her down, spread her out, and dive into her. He wanted to see her pale skin against his dark sheets, her hair spread across his pillows. He took two steps to the staircase, but it was too far. He turned, his long strides purposeful as he walked down the hall to his study, kicking the door closed with his foot. He carried her to his desk, pushing his chair out of the way as he settled her on the cool, flat surface, flattening his hands on either side of her as he leaned forward, nipping her bottom lip.

"This isn't a bedroom," she whispered, bringing her hands up to grasp his shoulders, pulling herself slightly forward so she could feel him between her thighs. She ran her hands up, down, around his arms, loving the feel of his muscles. Eager to see his skin again, she unclasped the top buttons of his Ministry robes, pushing the heavy material off of his shoulders.

"Indulge me," he begged.

She pulled away from him, leaning back slightly so she could study him. His eyes were hooded with desire, his nostrils flaring slightly as he panted. "How?"

He leered, moving his hands behind him to unclasp the death-grip her legs had on his body. Not breaking eye contact, he undid the top three buttons of his tailored white button-down shirt. He then undid the buttons at his wrists, rolling the sleeves up. Hermione watched his deliberate movements, unaware that she was licking her lips in anticipation.

"This is my private office," he said, taking a seat in the oversized chair in front of her. "No one disturbs me here, yet I find myself constantly distracted by thoughts of you."

Her smile was pure arrogance. "I'm glad to hear I'm not the only one."

Kingsley ran his hands up Hermione's legs, his thumbs grazing the inside of her thighs, so close to where she wanted him to touch her, but not quite.

"What am I doing when you find yourself distracted?" she asked, her voice low.

"To start, you are sitting on my desk, as you are now."

She raised an eyebrow. "That's a pretty tame fantasy, Kingsley."

"Oh, did I forget to mention that you're naked?" he laughed, leaning back in his chair, smiling as she blushed slightly. "You come in fully dressed, but as we talk, you slowly start peeling your clothes from your body. You continue the conversation, pretending you don't know what the sight of your bare skin does to me."

Hermione found her fingers undoing the buttons of her extra-long plaid shirt as Kingsley talked. His voice was hypnotizing, as were his eyes as he watched her. She got to the last button when she hesitated.

"Don't stop," he whispered, his gaze stead on hers as she slid the fabric off of her, letting it settle in a pool on the desk. He took in his first sight of her nearly naked body, her pale white skin, the lines of her shape, her flat stomach. She was wearing a silk gray bra, her nipples slightly visible through the thin fabric. He leaned forward and traced the outline of the garment with his finger. She sighed and leaned back, resting her hands on the desk, eyes closed as she enjoyed the feeling of his touch on her, gasping when his tongue replaced his finger. "May I?" he asked, his hand resting on the clasp in-between her breasts. She hummed in response; he took that as a yes and undid the tiny fastener, slowly sliding the garment off of her body. He leaned back in his chair, taking in the sight of her. "Beautiful," he whispered.

She felt beautiful, sitting there, his eyes devouring her. She expected to be nervous, but it was impossible to feel anything but lust. When he held out his hand, she took it without thinking. He pulled her gently on to his lap. Her legs settled on either side of his strong things, the position bringing his hard length directly in contact with her core. He lifted slightly and she could feel him through her thin black pants, his dark blue trousers.

"I want to be slow, Hermione," he said, running his hands up her body until he was cupping her breasts in his hands, his fingers brushing lightly over her nipples. "I want to savor you," he whispered, leaning forward to lick one nipple, taking it in his mouth, swirling his tongue around it slowly. Hermione clasped his head to hold him there, her hips pressing into him without thought.

"Talk to me, love," he whispered, moving to the other nipple to give it the same attention, his fingers twisting, plucking the one he just left. "Tell me how to touch you, where to touch you."

"Don't stop what you're doing," she implored, arching to give him greater access, gasping when he slid his hand down to touch her through her pants.

"Merlin …" he groaned. "You are so wet, aren't you? I can feel you, so excited."

"Yes," she breathed. "God, yes!"

He slid his hands underneath the waistband of her trousers, desperate to feel her. His knuckles brushed against the silk of her knickers making her gasp and moan above him. She was so wound up; it wouldn't take long to send her over the edge. Pushing the flimsy fabric aside, he lifted his head to kiss her just as his fingers made contact with her clit. He swallowed her groan and the sounds of excitement she made as his fingers explored her folds. She was dripping with excitement. He longed to stand her up and peel her clothes from her so he could see for himself, but he didn't want to stop touching her, didn't want her to lose her grip on his head. He thrust his body up as he touched, circling her clit in a similar rhythm before he slid a finger inside her.

"Kingsley!" she gasped. "I'm so … oh, God!" She didn't know what was happening, what she was feeling. It was building inside of her, too much, not enough. She was going to explode. She was going to die. She wanted so much. Pulling his head to her, she kissed him, her tongue dueling with his in the same rhythms as his hips, his fingers. "Don't stop … just like that! Please. Please. Please!"

She screamed as her world shattered into a million pieces. Kingsley watched her face, her eyes closed in pure bliss as she came down, her chest heaving as she caught her breath. She was gorgeous when she came. He wanted to see her do it again and again and again. He reluctantly removed his hand from her knickers as she leaned her forehead against his, panting softly. Licking her essence from his fingers, he smiled as her eyes grew wide.

"You taste incredible," he told her. "I can't wait to taste you fully, lick where only my fingers have been."

She blushed at his words. She had brought herself to orgasm with her fingers before, nothing like what had just happened with Kingsley, but enough to satisfy the ache that would build up in her, demanding release. The idea of his head between her legs, kissing, tasting what he just touched … she wanted it so much and was scared, embarrassed, at the same time.

"Hermione," Kingsley said, brushing the hair from her face, his hands slowly stroking up and down her naked back. "Talk to me, love. What are you thinking?" She looked away, but he wasn't having that. Taking her chin in his hands, he moved her to look at him. "Don't do that," he told her. "When you're with me, you are with me. Don't look away."

"It's not that," she said, getting lost in his eyes. They were so dark, nearly black.

"Are you embarrassed? Seeing you in pleasure is the most beautiful sight I've ever set my eyes on. I want to see you lose control again. My new goal in life is to see how many ways I can make you scream."

She blushed again.

"What is it?" he asked.

"You're so … I don't know how to react to what you say, how you make me feel. I have this need, Kingsley. It's been there for weeks and now … I feel like I'm going to die if I don't have you inside of me soon."

His smile was slow, conceited. "I feel the same, love," he replied, bending down to nuzzle her neck.

"I don't want to let you down," she moaned, moving her head to give him better access, her fingers going to the buttons on his shirt.

"You could never let me down," he told her, watching as her eyes darkened when she took in the sight of his naked chest.

"I might," she murmured, not noticing when his eyes narrowed; she was too busy exploring his broad shoulders, tapered waist. Dear God, the man had abs.

"How?" he asked.

"Hmm?"

"How could you let me down?"

She pulled away, her hands in her lap as she looked at him, her gaze steady. It was now or never. "I've never … I haven't done this, Kingsley. You're my first."

Her words were like a cold bucket of water dumped on the most vulnerable part of his body. She was … How can that be? She was 19 years old! She was gorgeous! She exuded sex without even trying! She was so fucking responsive, her body reacting to every single touch. Her kisses drove him crazy! The feel of her hands, the way she moved her body against his … Bloody fucking hell!

"Kingsley?"

He grasped her upper arms and moved her off of his lap. He picked up her discarded shirt and settled it over her shoulders, suppressing his sigh of relief as she shrugged into it, hiding her beautiful body from his eyes. Part of him wanted to rip the shirt from her but the rational part knew to do so would be wrong.

She was innocent and he was anything but.

She watched as he walked around the desk, rubbing a hand down his face. "Kingsley?"

He was pacing the room, his hands clenching as he struggled to regain control.

"Kingsley?" she repeated, her voice a bit stronger.

He turned. "I'm sorry."

She was confused. "You're sorry?"

"I shouldn't have … I assumed you had experience."

She smiled a little. Maybe she wasn't as amateurish as she feared.

"I should not have taken such liberties with you," he continued.

She looked at him. "But I wanted you to," she protested. "I told you how long I've wanted -"

"You're a virgin!" he shouted.

He said it like it was a disease. Or perhaps he expected her to faint from shock. How can a man who confessed earlier to wanting to taste her on the conference table at the Ministry of Magic suddenly treat her as a piece of china?

"It's not a crime," she told him. She knew there was never going to be a good way of alerting him to her inexperience, but never did she imagine he'd react this way.

He sighed and sat on the coffee table in the middle of the room. Resting his hands on his thighs, he looked at her with a concerned expression. It was almost, she shuddered, _paternal_.

"Hermione, your first time should be special."

"And it will be; with you!" she cried.

He shook his head. "I can't … I'm not long term. When you give yourself to someone, you need to know that it's more than just want, just lust. I care for you, greatly, but not the way you deserve."

She stared at him, not believing what he just said, what was happening moments after she was screaming on his lap. He was letting her down. He was actually turning her away.

The bastard.

"I'm sorry," she replied, her tone almost haughty. "I wasn't aware that having sex with someone instigated a commitment. You're single, Kingsley. Am I to assume that you, too, are a virgin?"

"You know what I mean, Hermione."

"No, I'm afraid I don't. You want me, but because I'm untouched, you won't take me. Instead, you are going to let some other wizard do the honors. Does this mean we can have sex after?"

He stood up and marched toward her. "Don't you dare," he growled.

"Why not? Perhaps I could owl a friend from school and take care of things before dinner."

His look was murderous. "You will stop talking about that right now," he warned. "I'm trying to do the right thing, Hermione. I'm trying to be honorable."

"And if there's one thing Kingsley Shacklebolt has, its honor," she sniffed, pushing past him to march to the door, flinging open the oak door so it slammed against the wall, knocking several portraits to the floor. She turned to glare at him, her eyes bright with temper and hurt. "Congratulations, Minister. You stopped yourself in time and I remain pure. I hope your fucking honor keeps you warm at night!"

* * *

><p><strong>Oh, Kingsley. You never want to piss off Hermione Granger. Everyone knows that.<strong>


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: A woman scorned is never a good thing …**

**I do not own Harry Potter no matter how much I wish I did. **

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><p>She slammed the door shut, the vibration echoing in the hallway as she hurried to the stairs. She would not cry in front of him. She would not give him that satisfaction because, knowing Kingsley, he would do something decent to try and make her feel better. The way she was feeling, if he even attempted something kind, she'd likely break his nose. She's done it before; she can do it again.<p>

Just ask Draco.

Hermione locked the door to her suite and used her wand to add additional wards and a silencing charm. She didn't know if she was going to cry, scream or die of embarrassment, but she did know she wanted absolute privacy as she came to terms with what was possibly the most embarrassing and frustrating moment of her life.

"Men," she huffed, stomping to the couch. She sat and immediately jumped up. She was too wound up to sit. What she really wanted to do was go for a run, but there was no way she was leaving her rooms. She paced in circles. She could feel her magic shimmering under her skin. Her fingers were tingling, the ends of her hair crackling. That wasn't good. Maintaining her temper was a lifetime struggle, but there were a few times when it got so out of hand that her magic suffered because of it. Well, not her magic, but people and objects around her due to the buildup of magic that needed to be disbursed.

She talked to Remus about it years ago. Her former professor had blushed when she asked how to could use the excess energy without causing physical harm. Tonks, who was sitting at the kitchen table with them, burst out laughing. When Hermione asked her to explain, she replied that sex was the best way witches and wizards could control surplus magic. Remus jumped in and said Hermione was too young for the conversation; words he regretted immediately as both witches started yelling at him.

The next morning, Remus found Hermione, apologized, and said he was ready to answer her questions.

"I talked to Tonks," she said.

Remus swallowed. "Oh. So she … so she, uh …"

Hermione hid her smile under her hand. Tonks had told her to make Remus squirm; he deserved it.

"Well, yes, the physical act of intimacy with another person is one way you could expel a surplus of magic due to stress, anger or other emotions," Remus continued, keeping his eyes focused on something two inches above Hermione's head. "However, I wouldn't suggest you engage in sex simply to …"

"Scratch an itch?" Hermione suggested with wide and innocent eyes.

He blushed. Why was he the one having this conversation with her? Where was Molly? The one time that woman was not hovering about!

"There are other ways if you are not in the position … I mean, situation … for sex. There's other physical activity, like exercise. Running is a great way to keep your magic in check. There's also meditation. The more you center your magic, the better you control it than the other way around." Remus handed the book he held in his hands to Hermione. "Dumbledore gave me this third year. I was having a hard time controlling my emotions the week or so before the full moon and he thought the information in here could help."

Hermione flipped through the pages of medication techniques and practices. "Did it?"

Remus gave a slight chuckle. "Once I got James and Sirius to leave me alone so I could try it, yes."

Hermione got up and hugged her former teacher. "Thank you, Remus; I'll look through this and get it back to you."

He waved away her thanks. "It's yours now, Hermione. Just promise me you'll take care of yourself. I don't want to see you hurt."

Hermione smiled at the memory. Remus' book did help. She didn't do her meditative exercises all of the time – she found running took less focus with similar results – but perhaps it was time to begin again. After all, Kingsley just made sex in the immediate future highly unlikely and until she had the freedom to find a willing wizard, she was either going to find an outlet for her magic or deplete her savings replacing shattered knickknacks throughout the manor.

* * *

><p>Kingsley rehung the portraits himself. He didn't want to explain to Walter why they were on the floor and the pitying looks he received from the former leaders of the Wizarding World were enough judgment for one day.<p>

"The level of intelligence required for Minister of Magic must have dropped off since my days," Heinrich Greenlee said, his crystal blue eyes shrew as he studied Kingsley. "I never would have let such a pretty witch get away."

"I've heard that about you, Heinrich," Kingsley growled, ignoring the man's chuckle as he left his study and walked upstairs to his bedroom. He paused outside of Hermione's door, but knew he was the last person she wanted to see. He knew she was mad and he understood that. He was mad, too – mad at himself that he never thought to question her about her sexual experience. He should have realized she was untouched. She'd spent most of her life in a fight to stay alive. It's not like she had the time to flirt with wizards and go on dates. It was stupid of him to assume she did all of the normal teenage things when she wasn't fighting Lord Voldemort.

He entered his bedroom, peeling off his clothes before stepping into the shower, making the water as cold as he could stand. There were bite marks on his chest, places where Hermione had nibbled on his skin before tracing the bites with her tongue. She was so … she was a fucking natural! How was he supposed to realize that the woman who could bring him to his knees with a look was a virgin?

He leaned his head against the cool tile. This was bad. She was angry. She was beyond angry. She had levitated several inches off the ground when she was yelling at him. He had heard of her temper, but this was the first time he witnessed it firsthand.

It was fucking hot.

How the hell was he supposed to continue this charade when it was obvious she never wanted to be near him again? They could maintain their distance at the manor, but they had to go to the opera that weekend and there was the New Year's Eve Ball. Andromeda mentioned taking Hermione shopping on Boxing Day and just that afternoon he received an owl from Madame Pluck. She wanted Kingsley to attend the groundbreaking ceremony of the orphanage's addition and specifically asked that he bring "his delightful Miss Granger."

"Damn," he sighed.

* * *

><p>The meditation helped.<p>

Hermione changed into yoga pants and a fitted short-sleeve yellow T-shirt and sat in the middle of her drawing room for nearly an hour, unaware of the objects that floated in the room and she concentrated on centering herself and her magic. When she felt in control, she stretched, incorporating the yoga exercises that Luna swore by. Hermione didn't understand most of what came out of her blond friend's mouth, but Luna was one of the most easygoing people she knew. For that reason, she'd try anything to have just an iota of Luna's calm demeanor.

Finally ready to shower and get dressed for the Christmas Eve celebration, Hermione walked toward her bedroom, shrieking at the white stag galloping the window.

"We're outside your bedroom," Harry's voice said before his patronus disappeared.

Hermione ran back through the drawing room, lifting her charms and wards to throw open the door and embrace Harry and Ron. Ginny and George were there, too, joining the threesome in a large group hug that shook off Hermione's remaining feelings of melancholy.

"Not that I'm not thrilled to see you, Hermione, but you kind of smell," Ron said, untangling himself.

"Oh! Sorry!" she gasped, backing up several steps. "I was just getting ready to take a shower."

"Go ahead; we'll wait," George said, stretching out on her couch, his feet hanging over the arm.

"Speak for yourself," Ginny told him, tossing her red hair behind her shoulder with a sniff. "I'm exploring this place. No one visits the Minister's Manor. I plan on taking advantage of the privilege."

She grabbed Harry's hand and pulled him from the room. Ron watched them go and turned to Hermione, a pleading expression on his face.

"Go," she laughed.

"I'll meet you downstairs!" he yelled, running after his sister and best friend.

Hermione looked at George. "You don't want to go?"

He shook his head. "I'd rather have an update on the 'Shag Kingsley senseless' plan."

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"No progress, huh?"

"Worse. The plan is off."

George sat up. "Kingsley is gay? Huh. "

"No!" Hermione said, walking back to her bedroom, gesturing for George to follow her. He did, flopping on her bed. "He's interested in witches. He's just not interested in me."

"Not possible."

Hermione smiled and joined George on the bed. He immediately moved to lay his head in her lap.

"Tell me what happened," he said.

She concentrated on brushing his red hair out of his eyes. "Why couldn't I love you?" she asked him, wanting to delay sharing her story as long as possible.

"If I recall, you had your chance."

"I was 14," Hermione laughed.

"And you had just punched Malfoy," George reminded her. "I was almost serious when I asked you to marry me." She rolled her eyes, remembering how both twins had thrown themselves at her feet in the Gryffindor common room that night, pledging their eternal love. "But enough stalling," he said. "What happened?"

Hermione sighed. "He doesn't want to be my first."

George sat up. "Excuse me?"

"I told him I was a virgin and he sort of freaked out. He did the whole 'Your first time should be with someone you love' speech and apologized for touching me."

George couldn't believe what he was hearing. He didn't know Hermione was a virgin, but he wasn't surprised by that. What did surprise him was that Kingsley was able to stop himself. The man had an inner strength George knew he didn't possess, especially when a willing witch was within arm's reach.

"Do I want to know what happened to lead to this revelation?" he asked.

Hermione blushed, essentially answering George's question.

"When did this happen?" he asked.

"A few hours ago."

George gave a low whistle. "So you're saying I get to look forward to an awkward dinner?"

"Extremely awkward," Hermione replied, getting up to walk to her wardrobe. She needed to find something to wear. She wondered if she could transfigure one of her dresses into a nun's habit. Or maybe she should take a page from Hester Prynne and embroider a scarlet A on all of her clothing.

"What are you doing?" George asked, making Hermione jump. She didn't realize he followed her and was studying the black dress in her hands in disgust. "Isn't that your funeral dress?"

She looked at the garment. It was. She wore this dress more than she ever planned on when she first bought it. The only funeral she didn't wear it to was Fred's. Instead, she wore a bright purple dress with pink high heels. Fred had loved those shoes.

"Are you implying this dress is too dull for Christmas Eve dinner?"

"I'm not implying anything; I'm flat out saying that dress is death and I'm burning it," George replied, taking it from her. "I'm also going to tell you that as a man, Kingsley is suffering right now. I'm talking strong, physical suffering. Take your level of frustration and multiply it by 100 suffering."

"And I should care about this because …"

His smile was pure evil. "Think about it, Hermione. He hurt you. He embarrassed you. He made you feel something and when the reality of the situation intruded, he pushed you aside."

"Thanks, George, for summarizing my pain so succinctly," Hermione fumed.

"I'm just wondering why you're letting him get away with it," George said, giving Hermione a pointed look.

Hermione studied George for a minute before breaking out in her own wicked grin. "I let your sister talk me into buying a pair of black leather pants a few months ago."

"That's a start," George told her. "What else have you got?"

She ended up wearing a different black dress. It had a scooped neck and long sleeves, but stopped an inch above her knees and was tight in all the right places with a dark gray lace overlay that George said made him want to touch her, so Kingsley would likely feel the same.

She paired the dress with a pair of dark stockings and three-inch stilettos.

"Is this dress going to give your parents a heart attack?" Hermione asked while studying her reflection in the mirror, holding her hair up in one hand to determine the best style.

George shook his head. "Nah. Ginny's gotten away with worse."

Settling on a loose knot, allowing tendrils to frame her face, Hermione turned to George with her eyebrow raised for final approval.

"I'm a stupid man for encouraging you to go after someone who isn't me," he said.

Perfect.

* * *

><p>"Is there any news on the attack in Diagon Alley?"<p>

Arthur shook his head.

"Any theories on why Hermione wasn't taken?" Kingsley asked as he and Arthur settled on the couch in the first floor living room. Molly was in the kitchen with Walter, who was trying his hardest to pretend he was excited about helping her prepare the Christmas Eve dinner. Hermione and the others were somewhere, giving the two men a few minutes to talk about less than cheery topics.

"A few," Arthur said. "There's no way to prove this as Hermione was unconscious, but they might have wanted her blood."

"A blood ritual?" Kingsley asked. "That doesn't make sense. Hermione has no ties to Voldemort. She doesn't have ties to anyone in the Wizarding World."

"That's what I said," Arthur agreed. "If Bellatrix Lestrange was still alive, it would make more sense -"

"Why?"

Arthur looked uncomfortable. "You don't know?"

"Know what?"

"She tortured Hermione. Harry, Ron and Hermione were captured, taken to Malfoy Manor, and Bellatrix … she performed the Cruciatus Curse on Hermione_."_

Kingsley looked furious. "Why didn't I know this?"

"It was just before the Battle at Hogwarts," Arthur told him. "None of us knew, not until after the battle. Molly and I only found out because Hermione forgot to glamour her arm before breakfast one day."

"Why would she need a glamour? That curse doesn't leave scars," Kingsley said.

"Yeah, but Bellatrix carved mudblood in Hermione's arm with a cursed dagger," Ron said from the doorway, his face stony as he recalled Hermione's screams. He'd yet to forgive himself for not being able to protect her that day. He never would.

"Ron -" Arthur stood up.

"Mum wanted me to tell you that dinner's ready," Ron said, leaving without acknowledging his father.

"I won't apologize for him," Arthur said. "Harry and Ron were in the dungeons, but Bellatrix made sure they could hear Hermione scream. Ron still has nightmares. If there was a way to bring Bellatrix back so Molly could kill her again, I wouldn't hesitate."

Shaking his head slightly to clear the memory from his mind, Arthur waited for Kingsley to stand so they would walk to the dining room together. Kingsley did, but automatically. He was still coming to terms with the new information. He had a murderous urge to hurt someone. His temper was something he learned a long time ago to keep on a tight leash. He lived his life in careful control. Losing control put himself, put others, in danger, but knowing Hermione had suffered such torture …

The sound of heels on the stairs made Kingsley stop and look up, and then he wished he hadn't. Hermione was walking down on George's arm, the two of them laughing about something while Harry and Ginny trailed behind. It wasn't the sight of Hermione with the redhead that gave him pause but her dress, if you could even call it that. It was short and hugged her curves like she had to pour herself into it and her legs … how could someone so small have legs that go on forever?

He eyes were drawn to her shoes. Bloody hell.

"Hermione," Arthur smiled, kissing the top of her head as she hugged him. "It's good to see you."

"You, too," she replied. "It wouldn't be Christmas without my family."

Nodding at Kingsley with a cool smile, she linked her arm through Arthur's and walked with him to the dining room. Ginny gave him an odd look as she and Harry followed.

George shot him a sheepish grin. "Feeling all right, Kings?" he asked with a wink before joining his family.

_The girl is trying to kill me._


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: If I needed a partner in crime, I'd turn to George Weasley first, followed by … (Will your second HP character match Hermione's? Let me know!)**

**As always, Harry Potter does not belong to me. I make no money from writing this. Instead, I ignore the laundry. **

* * *

><p>By the time Molly served dessert, Kingsley no longer thought Hermione was trying to kill him.<p>

He was certain of it.

She sat next to him at the dining room table – which he and Arthur had shrunk to allow everyone to talk freely without having to shout, though the Weasleys tended to express themselves loudly anyway – and the way she licked her fork after every bite of food made the meal the longest and most erotic of his life. When she picked up her spoon to take her first bite of trifle, he jumped up and said he forgot about a message he needed to send to Germany's Minister of Magic. Ignoring Arthur's offer to help, he told everyone to enjoy themselves and he'd meet them in the library for presents.

"I'll bring you dessert," Hermione offered, her eyes dancing with merriment. It sounded sweet to everyone at the table. To Kingsley, it sounded like a threat.

He missed the wink Hermione exchanged with George.

He joined everyone in the library about midway through their gift exchange. The image of Hermione wearing one of Molly's knitted scarves and woolen socks was a welcome vision. That was until he received a scarf of his own.

"Thank you, Molly," he murmured, smiling at the dark gray and blue muffler. He'd never received a homemade gift before. It was oddly touching.

"I wish I could take credit, Kingsley, but that's from Hermione," Molly replied, beaming at the curly-haired girl kneeling on the floor with Ginny and Ron, laughing as they covered Harry with bows and ribbons.

"It's partly you, Molly," Hermione said, getting up to give the Weasley matriarch a hug. "You're the one who taught me to knit." Walking to Kingsley, she took the scarf from him and knotted it around his neck, leaning forward so her breasts lightly grazed his chest. Pulling away, she straightened the material more than was necessary, her fingers brushing lightly over his skin. Nibbling her lip as she studied the result, she gave him a smile; her first real smile of the evening. "The color suits you."

"Thank you," he said quietly, instantly regretting speaking as her spine instantly straightened. Nodding, she went back to her friends, squealing when George pulled her next to him on the floor, keeping an arm around her waist as they talked.

* * *

><p>Hermione was exhausted. Part of it was because of the baby boy currently curled in her arms as she rocked him in his nursery, but if she was being honest with herself, most of her energy the past 24 hours was focused on making Kingsley suffer. Her revenge plans to date consisting of hexing someone as soon as possible and moving on with life. Subtlety was never her forte. Apparently there was a reason for that.<p>

She wasn't going to give in, though. George said it was working when he hugged her goodbye last night and she did notice how Kingsley's eyes had darkened when he spotted her on the stairs last night. That was the only time the man let his emotions show. A schooled auror and politician, he was going to be a hard man to crack. Luckily, Hermione had nothing but time until she needed to revise for her N.E.W.T.s.

"What do you think, Teddy? Should I press on?"

The little boy opened his eyes, yawned sleepily, and snuggled further into her chest. She rubbed her hand in circles on his back, loving the feel of him in her arms.

"I'll take that as a yes."

* * *

><p>"She needs to go shopping, Kingsley."<p>

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "No one needs to go shopping, Andromeda."

"Hermione does. She has two major events to attend this week and nothing to wear. You don't want her to be embarrassed, do you?"

"Of course not, but after what happened at Diagon Alley, I don't think another shopping expedition is warranted."

"So put another guard on her. Put two. Come with us. I don't care what you do; I'm taking that girl shopping tomorrow. She's worried about how her appearance will affect you."

He rolled his eyes. "That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard."

Andromeda sniffed and gathered up the leftover wrapping paper from Teddy's presents. "Spoken like a man," she muttered.

* * *

><p>"Oof!" Hermione's breath rushed out of her as she made contact with the floor. Pushing her hair out of her eyes, she glared at Cormon, who was looking down at her with an amused expression.<p>

"What did you do wrong?" he asked.

"I didn't use my legs," she grumbled.

"Right. Your legs are more powerful than you think, especially yours because of all the running you do."

"Ha! Told you it was good for you."

Cormon snorted. "You're the one on the floor," he said, holding a hand out to help her to her feet. She took it gratefully, rolling the kinks out of her shoulder.

She approached Cormon for self-defense lessons after the attack in Diagon Alley. She completed a course with her mother years ago, but that instructor was a Muggle. He didn't focus on what a witch could do to defend herself without a wand. They started small with body weight exercises to increase Hermione's upper body strength. Today was the first day she actually got to practice defending herself from Cormon's attack – in theory, anyway.

"All right," Hermione said rocking on her heels. "Let's go again. I'm ready!"

Cormon shook his head. "Tomorrow. It's getting late and you have to get ready for the opera."

She rolled her eyes. She had nothing against the opera, but she really did not want to be forced to spend several hours in Kingsley's company. She'd seen him very little in the 72 hours since Christmas and was fine with that.

"Go," Cormon said, using his wand to transfigure the mats spread throughout the living room back into furniture.

"Are you going with us tonight?"

He started laughing then stopped and cleared his throat instead. "Um, no. I believe Jamison gets the honors."

"You sound heartbroken," she laughed.

"I am, Miss."

Hermione studied the man she'd spent more time with in the past two months than any other male, excluding her father, Harry and Ron. "You spent the past hour flipping me over your shoulder. Don't you think you could start calling me Hermione?"

He grinned and shook her head, his smile growing wider as she huffed up the stairs.

"Cormon?"

He spun around and faced Kingsley. It must be later than he realized. "Sir."

"Do I want to know why it smells like a Quidditch locker room in here?"

Cormon swallowed nervously. "Miss Granger asked for some lessons on self-defense. It seems the attack in Diagon Alley made her think there might be a time when she has to defend herself without magic and she wanted to know how."

Kingsley slowly nodded. That made sense. Aurors often trained in hand-to-hand combat; relying completely on magic was a hindrance, but he didn't like the idea of Hermione doing something that could hurt her. His expression must have said as much because Cormon quickly defended his teaching methods.

"I would never hurt her," Cormon continued. "She's stronger than she looks."

Kingsley studied the man in front of him. Cormon was nearly 30; too old for Hermione, but he had a boyish charm about him that made him seem younger than his actual years. He chose Cormon to watch Hermione because he thought someone younger would appeal to her. Perhaps that was a terrible idea.

"Sir?" Cormon asked, a worried expression on his face.

"Thank you for taking the time to help her," Kingsley said, his voice as stiff as his posture. "Until we know exactly what Dolohov and Yaxley want with her, every precaution should be taken."

"Yes, sir."

* * *

><p>Hermione studied her reflection. She was wearing a plum-colored empire-style dress with a pleated bodice that flowed to the tips of her toes in bare feet. The dress was single strap, with jeweled detailing on the bust and strap. She paired the dress with five-inch silver heels and said a grateful prayer to the women of <em>Witch Weekly<em> for publishing the spell that made heels as comfortable as flats.

She decided to go light on her makeup, opting for nude lipstick instead of a richer color. She styled her hair in loose curls, brushing them to fall over the left side of her face. A jeweled clip and a hair charm guaranteed that the style would hold up to apparating.

Tacking her wand into the discreet pocket of her dress, she grabbed the silver clutch on loan to her from Andromeda – she refused to spend more of Kingsley's money than absolutely necessary and already planned to pay him back once she was able to – and left her bedroom. Her new black cloak, Kingsley's Christmas present to her, was tossed over the arm of the chair sitting in front of the fireplace in her drawing room. She put it on and was fastening the top buttons when she walked out of her bedroom, meeting Kingsley in the hallway between their two suites.

"Are you ready?" he asked in the slightly formal tone he adopted whenever they were alone. She nodded, following him down that stairs and outside to the manor's apparition point. Taking the arm he offered, she focused on clearing her mind before feeling the familiar tug on her stomach.

* * *

><p>Kingsley looked around the Wizarding Opera House with a resigned sigh. It was the same people every time he made an appearance at one of these events – pureblood wizards and witches with nothing to do than look down at anyone who couldn't trace their family tree back hundreds of years. The outright hostility of these families was no more, but snobbery was still alive and well among some of the bigger names. Unfortunately, as Kingsley was learning, money talked and the Ministry needed a lot of it. Taking Hermione's arm, he led her to the cloakroom attendant, handing over his outer robe before helping Hermione with her cloak.<p>

The second it left her shoulders, he wanted to put it back on her. She was vision of smooth and soft skin in a dress that managed to be both demure and sexy. "You look incredible," he told her, his voice husky as he stared at the image that was Hermione Granger.

She smiled; a shy smile that made him wish he had the right to pull her into his arms and go somewhere, anywhere, that wasn't here. "Thank you," she replied softly. "You look nice, too."

He winked, grateful that for the moment, the tension that had surrounded them since Christmas Eve was gone. Offering his arm, she took it as he led her to the open area for the pre-performance reception.

"Are we schmoozing anyone in particular tonight?" she asked in a low voice, shaking her head at the glass of champagne a waiter offered her. She didn't have the highest tolerance for alcohol and she needed her wits if she was going to make it through the night without jumping on Kingsley and begging him to take her. The man was gorgeous in formal robes.

"Schmoozing?" Kingsley asked.

"It means to talk up, network," she explained.

"Got it," he nodded. "No; no one in particular. This is more of social event. We want to be seen, to show that we hold no ill will against those with, shall we say, questionable pasts."

Hermione nodded, her eyes dancing over those in the crowded room. She caught Elenia Nott's eye and smiled when the moving walked towards them, her husband trailing behind her.

"Minister," the woman cooed, offering her hand to Kingsley who kissed it lightly. Hermione braced herself for the societal air kiss that Andromeda told her to expect, but received a warm hug instead.

"It is good to see you, Miss Granger," Elenia gushed. "I was so worried after reading about the attack at Diagon Alley. Judging by how beautiful you look tonight, I can assume no harm was done?"

Hermione smiled at the woman's thinly-veiled desire for gossip, but didn't hold it against her as her concern seemed sincere. "Thank you," she replied. "I'm afraid you know as much as I do, although I worry Twilfitt and Tatting's will no longer welcome me in the store."

Elenia laughed. "Nonsense! I know for a fact their business has increased. People love a good story, after all."

Hermione passed a few more minutes visiting with Elenia. She was pleased to learn Theo was with them tonight and started looking for her classmate in the crowd.

"I believe he's with Draco near the bar," Elenia said as she shook her head ruefully. Her son was 18; it wasn't as if she could baby him forever; at least that's what her husband kept telling her.

Excusing herself, Hermione walked towards the bar, smiling at those who greeted her along the way. It wasn't until she spotted the platinum blond hair of Draco Malfoy that her face lit up in her first true smile of the night.

Kingsley watched as Hermione chatted with the young Malfoy. She looked carefree and relaxed, happier than he had seen her since he carried her out of the library. He wished so much he could change what happened between them that day. He still would have stopped himself from taking things further, she deserved someone better than him, but he would have handled it better. He would have found the words to make her understand his reasons for pushing her away that didn't leave her feeling hurt. Angry. Rejected.

He missed her. He missed the way they would talk over dinner, how she would listen to the policies he hoped to enact and offer feedback. He missed the two of them sitting together in the library, her reading while he worked, just enjoying the company of another human being. He didn't realize how lonely he allowed his life to become until she was part of it. He missed the smiles they would share, the looks that perfectly summarized how they felt in a given situation. Had anyone ever been as in tune with him as her?

He wanted her. Despite listing all of the reasons why it was wrong, he never stopped wanting her. But as he watched Draco Malfoy kiss her hand, he knew he was doing the right thing. She deserved someone younger, someone less damaged than him. When this was over, she'd go and live her life, and he'd be nothing more than a footnote.


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: Harry and Ron decide to dispel some wisdom …**

**Just in case you forgot, Harry Potter does not belong to me.**

* * *

><p>The knock at the door was timid, almost as if the person doing the knocking didn't want him to hear it.<p>

"Come in!" Kingsley called, forgoing formalities given the late hour.

Harry poked his head inside the door. "Are you busy?"

Kingsley pushed aside the papers he was reading, glad to have an excuse to ignore them for the moment. "No more than usual. Come in."

He did, followed by a sheepish Ron. The pair shuffled to the chairs in front of Kingsley's desk, standing until he gestured for them to sit. He waited for the pair to state their business, but Ron looked interested in something on the floor, ignoring the pointed look his best friend was giving him.

"Gentlemen, as good as it is to see you, I do have an engagement tonight, so if we could wrap this up …"

"Actually, Kings, that's why we wanted to talk to you," Harry said. "Um, so you're going to Malfoy Manner tonight for the ball and, well, Ron told me that you recently found out what happened to Hermione the last time we were there. She's friends with Malfoy now, which means they decided to forgive and move on, but she hasn't talked to his parents and I'm not sure she ever wants to."

Kingsley sighed. "Harry, I appreciate your concern for your friend, but that fact is I need to attend the ball and because of the scenario we're projecting to the public, Hermione needs to go with me. I understand your concerns, but there isn't any way around this. I can promise I won't let her out of my sight, if that makes you feel better."

Harry shrugged. He knew they couldn't avoid Malfoy's parents forever, but he was fine waiting another year. Or 20. "Just watch out for her, OK? She says she's fine, but she's not fine."

Kingsley nodded. He knew about Hermione's dreams, the nightmares that woke her up every night and kept her awake until the sun rose and she felt safe enough to close her eyes. The night he shared her bed … he had the feeling that was the first full night of sleep she'd had in months.

It was one of the best nights he had, too.

Ron cleared his throat nervously. "There's another thing."

"Yes?"

"This whole idea, you and Hermione pretend to date so she has constant surveillance while we look for Dolohov and Yaxley …"

"Your plan, in case you forgot," Kingsley reminded the redhead.

"Right. Well, um, it looks like, at times, that maybe the two of … well, you've had some moments in the public these past few weeks and it looks like, to us, that … maybeyouaren'treallyacting." He finished his sentence quickly and braced himself for Kingsley's outburst, digging his hands into the arms of his chair. Next to him, Harry held his breath.

Kingsley studied the aurors-in-training sitting before him. The fact that he spent several years protecting Harry, and then fighting alongside him and Ron gave the young wizards familiarity the other trainees didn't have, but this was too much. It was bad enough he had their best friend living at his house, a young woman who either hated him or wanted him depending on the hour, but to be accused of acting in the manner he was trying his damndest to avoid? What did they want from him?

"We know it's not our business," Harry spoke up after a minute of uncomfortable silence. "But we wanted to tell you that we get it."

Kingsley blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"You're in an odd spot," Ron told him. "The Order pretty much forced Hermione on you and now you have to pretend you're a couple and, well, sometimes pretending leads to real things."

"We're not saying it has or it hasn't," Harry jumped in. "And you don't have to tell us either way, but we thought you should know that if you wanted to date Hermione for real, we're OK with it."

"Mum and Dad might take longer to convince, but you're a good guy. They'd get there eventually," Ron added.

This was probably the strangest conversation Kingsley had ever had. "Did Hermione ask you to talk to me?"

Both boys laughed.

"Are you kidding?" Harry chuckled.

"She'd hex us all if she even knew about it," Ron continued, looking over his shoulder to make sure she wasn't standing in the doorway. He loved his friend, but her temper was scary. Even when he had the best of intentions, there was always the chance she wouldn't see his actions as such.

"Anyway, that's all we came to say," Harry said, pushing himself to his feet, nudging Ron in the shoulder so he'd do the same. "Have fun tonight, keep an eye on Hermione and whatever," he continued as they walked to the door, Ron waving over his shoulder.

Kingsley wanted a drink. He was going to forget work, go home, relax with a drink and then get ready for the New Year's Eve Ball.

Hell, maybe he'd have two drinks.

* * *

><p>Hermione had nothing against formal occasions and the pageantry that surrounded them, but two nights in one week was too much. Maybe it was a good thing that Kingsley wasn't reacting to her hot-and-cold tactics. If they were a real couple, she'd have to attend functions like this all the time.<p>

"Hermione, will you stop making that face. You're going to a ball, not your execution!" Andromeda scolded, giving the girl in front of her a critical look as the stylist worked to smooth Hermione's hair.

"I'm sorry," Hermione apologized, feeling awful. It was kind of Andromeda to help her choose the proper gown for the New Year's Eve Ball and it was extremely generous of her to bring her personal stylist to Kingsley's home to help Hermione with her hair and makeup. She needed to do a better job of showing her gratitude for the woman's generosity.

"Don't be sorry dear; be happy. I know this ball is the last thing you want to do tonight and, well, ever, probably, but you're not thinking of it the right way."

Hermione gave her a questioning look.

"Lucius and Narcissa spent years looking down at anyone who wasn't a pureblood witch or wizard for years. Now, they're hosting the event of the season and most of the attendees will be half-bloods, and there's nothing they can do about it," she finished with a wicked grin similar to her daughter's.

Hermione knew there was no love lost between Andromeda and Narcissa ever since Andromeda was blasted off the Black Family Tree, but she didn't realize that so many years later, the woman could still be hurt by her family's rejection. If her attendance at the ball made Andromeda happy, she would go and have an incredible time just to annoy the Malfoys.

Satisfied with Hermione's tilt of her chin, Andromeda patted her on the shoulder and left the bathroom, hoping to catch Kingsley before he retired to his own suite to get ready.

"Walter!"

_Pop!_

"Yes, Mrs. Tonks?"

"Is Mr. Shacklebolt home?"

"Mr. Minister is in the library."

"Very good. Thank you," she replied, walking down the stairs. She found Kingsley sitting on the couch, his feet propped up on the coffee table, a drink in his hand and a forlorn look on his face.

"Is no one happy about tonight?" she asked, walking over to the sidebar and pouring herself a small firewhiskey, joining Kingsley on the couch.

Kingsley tapped the edge of his glass to Andromeda's and finished the rest of his drink in one swallow. "I take it Hermione is no more enthusiastic right now than she was when I first told her about the ball?"

Andromeda shook her head. "You will never have to worry about your social calendar getting out of hand with that one."

Kingsley gave a bitter laugh. "No worries there."

Andromeda put down her glass. "What is it you're not telling me, Kingsley? You can lie to the public, but you can't lie to me."

He shook his head. "I'm not at liberty -"

"Oh, don't give me that political nonsense. You have your reasons for bringing that girl here, I get that, but the fact of the matter is you care about her more than you want to and she cares about you."

"It's more complicated than that."

"No, it isn't. In fact, it's the opposite of complicated, it's …" she broke off suddenly and smiled at a memory. A moment later, she was chuckling.

Kingsley was confused. "Do you want to fill me in?"

Smiling fondly, she patted him on the arm. "I was just remembering another young man who wanted to deny what he was feeling because he thought it would be best for the woman who loved him."

"This is not like Tonks and Remus."

"It's exactly like them," Andromeda said. "You're the older man with baggage. She's the young girl who shouldn't attach herself to him. Oh, how she'd love to see you all tied up in knots like this. Well, after she yelled at you for being an idiot."

Kingsley stood up. "As much fun as it is having you berate me in my own house, I really should get ready."

Andromeda shook her head. "Don't you give me that tone, Kingsley Shacklebolt. We've known each other too long."

He sighed, hating that she was right. "I don't know what you want from me."

She stood up and placed her hand on his arm. "I want you to be happy and I think that girl upstairs could make you happy. Now don't start shaking your head. I'm not suggesting you propose marriage; I simply think you should stop being so hard on yourself."

"I can't give her what she needs."

Andromeda sniffed. "Has she told you what she needs? Did you even ask, or did you assume? You might be older than her, but that doesn't mean you know what's best. If it helps, I said the same thing to Remus. He didn't have enough time with my daughter, or with his son, but I'm glad they had the time they had. It's better than nothing."

On that note, she left the library. Kingsley decided to have that second drink after all.

* * *

><p>He was contemplating a third while he waited for Hermione to come downstairs. Andromeda had left minutes earlier after giving him a big hug and telling him to stop being so tough on himself. He wished it was as easy as she said, but he wasn't Remus Lupin. Remus didn't spend years capturing dark wizards. He didn't enter a room and note every entrance and exit. He never walked into a shop and catalogued every which and wizard in the establishment. He could walk outside without worrying that he was being watched. He didn't insist on sitting with his back to the wall in a restaurant. Kingsley wasn't as paranoid as Mad-Eye Moody, but he wasn't as laid back as Arthur Weasley, either. He'd seen too much, done too much. It was too late for him, but it wasn't too late for Hermione. She had the chance to live a life in the light, without fear, without violence. That's what they fought for and he was going to make damn sure she got it.<p>

That's how much he cared about her.

Pacing the spacious entryway with his hands behind his back, Kingsley's head snapped up the moment he heard Hermione's heels on the stairs and then, for one moment, he swore his heart stopped.

She was gorgeous.

The dress was a fitted sweetheart bodice that flowed in navy blue until it got to her waist. From there, the color of the dress changed, the fabric turning shades lighter as it flowed to the floor, leaving the very bottom pure white. Her hair was smoothed into a classic chignon with nothing framing her face. She wore the silver heels she had at the opera – Kingsley stifled a groan; he already suffered through one uncomfortable night because he couldn't stop fantasizing about those heels – and carried a silver clutch.

She kept one hand on the banister as she made her way downstairs, avoiding Kingsley's gaze. Instead, she smiled at Cormon standing by the doorway, an innocent exchange that made Kingsley's blood boil. Taking the witch's hand in his, he flipped it over so he could press a kiss to her wrist.

"Words can't describe how beautiful you look, love," he said in a quiet voice.

Hermione tried to steel herself against his words, against his actions. It was so hard when he was so close. She could feel the heat radiating from his body. He still had her hand in his. It was getting difficult to breath. Damn him for making her feel this way!

"Are you ready?" he asked, brushing his other hand lightly over her shoulder, smirking slightly as she shivered at his touch. Narrowing her eyes, she tugged her hand free so she could brush nonexistent lint from Kingsley's shoulders, making sure to press fully against him as she did so. He gave her a warning look in response.

"I'm ready," she replied with a wicked grin.

She wasn't referring to the ball.

Neither was Kingsley.


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: Harry Potter does not belong to me.**

* * *

><p><em>You are strong. You are brave. You are strong. You are brave. <em>

Hermione repeated her mantra in her head as she and Kingsley slowly made their way through the reception line. She felt Kingsley place his hand on top of the one she rested on his arm and give it a comforting pat, but she didn't have the energy to shift her head to look at him. She needed to focus, had to focus. She could not, would not, crack – no matter how much she wanted to scream.

"Minister Shacklebolt. It is so good to see you. Thank you for gracing us with your presence this evening," Narcissa Malfoy purred, her perfectly composed face giving away nothing as Kingsley kissed her offered hand. "And Miss Granger. How lovely to see you again."

Hermione nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Two steps later, she was looking into the silver-gray eyes of the man she hated more than Voldemort.

"Miss Granger," Lucius Malfoy said coolly. "It is my pleasure to welcome you to my home. I hope you will feel welcome here."

Hermione offered her hand, as was expected, schooling her features not to show disgust as he placed a gentle kiss on her knuckles. "Thank you for the invitation. Malfoy Manor is gorgeous."

Lucius arrogant smile dropped just a bit. "Thank you. It's been in the family for generations."

Hermione nodded. "I do hope you were able to get the blood off the floor in the drawing room. It would be a shame to have a constant reminder of my last visit."

Lucius eyes narrowed slightly. Kingsley felt Hermione stiffen in response. "Well," he said, clearing his throat, "we won't hold up the line." His smile was polite as he led Hermione away.

"I'm sorry," she whispered after she was certain they were out of earshot. "I … I needed to say something to remind them I haven't forgotten. I know to everyone else it looks like they've paid their debt, but I'm not ready to pretend everything is fine."

Brining her hand to his lips, Kingsley kissed it, then flipped it over to press a second kiss on her palm, her wrist, and her arm. "Your apology is not accepted because it isn't necessary," he told her. "I think you handled that brilliantly."

She looked at him, really looked at him. He was grinning down at her, his eyes dark as he ran a hand down the side of her face. "We don't have to stay long, all right?"

Capturing his hand so she could hold it to her cheek, she felt at ease for the first time in days. "We'll stay as long as you need to stay," she told him. "I'm fine."

And this time, she meant it.

* * *

><p>Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy may be former Death Eaters, but they certainly knew how to throw a party. The ballroom was pure silver, including the floor and walls, with the ceiling enchanted to look like the night sky during a snowstorm, complete with light snowflakes that disappeared midway through their descent. Sitting at a table that included Arthur and Molly Weasley, Hermione let her guard down long enough to enjoy her meal, her courage emboldened by the hand Kingsley left on her knee, squeezing every so often as if to remind her he was there, looking out for her. Draco caught her eye during the soup course and mouthed "Are you OK?" visibly sighing when she nodded.<p>

"Hermione, dear, you look gorgeous," Molly gushed, her blue eyes sparkling as she took another sip of champagne. She confessed earlier that the bubbles went to her head faster than any other alcoholic beverage and asked Hermione to stop her after two glasses.

She was now on her fourth.

Hermione smiled at the small vile of Hangover Potion Arthur slipped her with instructions to have Molly drink it in the loo as the ballroom was readied for dancing. Excusing herself, she walked over to the red-haired witch.

"Molly, I need to visit the loo. Will you come with me?"

Molly finished her drink, looked slightly disappointed that there wasn't another one waiting for her, and nodded, leaning heavily on Hermione as she got to her feet and found her balance. Taking Molly's arm, Hermione got them to the loo without incident, conjuring another champagne glass to pour the potion into. Holding it out. Molly guzzled it, then opened her eyes wide.

"Hermione! You were supposed to stop me at two!"

"I tried!" she giggled. "If that's what you're like when you really want something, no wonder you have seven kids!"

Molly burst out laughing, giving Hermione a quick kiss on the cheek. After promising not to drink any more that night, for real this time, the pair left the bathroom, joining Arthur and Kingsley on the side of the dance floor.

"Will you do me the honors of the first dance?" Kingsley asked, drawing Hermione to his side and wrapping an arm around her waist.

"I'm not the best dancer," she admitted.

Kissing her forehead, Kingsley took her hand and led her to the floor. "Lucky for you, I am."

He wasn't lying. He led her through their first waltz effortlessly, his movements strong and sure as they circled the floor. When the music stopped, he simply raised an eyebrow, smiling when she nodded and they danced a second dance, Hermione feeling graceful in his arms. Their third dance just ended when Draco approached them, asking Kingsley if he could cut in.

"I'll be back for her," he promised, pulling Hermione close so he could kiss her softly on the lips before handing her to Draco.

"I was going to ask how things are going between you, but judging by the dreamy look on your face, I believe the answer is well."

Hermione was still staring after Kingsley, trying to process what happened, when she realized music was playing and Draco was twirling her around. "I'm sorry?"

He rolled his eyes. Watching Hermione Granger moon over a man was slightly disturbing. She was supposed to be above that. If love could make Granger act like an idiot, what hope was there for the rest of them?

"I was saying things look like they've cooled off between the two of you. Or perhaps I should say heated up."

She rolled her eyes. She had filled Draco in on everything at the opera earlier that week because she needed a favor. "I told you, Draco, it isn't real."

He smirked. "Maybe not to you, but the way our esteemed Minister of Magic has been pawing you all night, I think we can assume he's feeling quite proprietary."

"He's a good actor."

"No one is that good, Granger. The man wants you. Why else would he be marking his territory all night?"

She pulled back slightly so Draco could see her look of disbelief.

"I know what I'm talking about. The touching. The kissing. If he was a dog, he would have peed on you and been done with it."

She snorted, making several couples swivel their heads to note the less than proper behavior on the dance floor. Draco glared at them. "Control yourself, Granger. You'd think you'd never been around proper society before."

"I haven't."

He was wearing his familiar arrogant sneer, but Hermione could see the sparkle of humor in his eyes. "That's right. You would think you'd pick of some of my impeccable manners while we were at school."

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Malfoy," she teased. "However can I make it up to you?"

He twirled them to the edge of the dance floor, near the French doors leading out to the balcony. "You can talk to my father. He's waiting for you."

Hermione froze. Her face paled. Her breathing increased. She shook her head mutely.

"Granger, he has information. You wanted me to ask, I asked."

"Why can't you tell me?" she hissed.

He shrugged "This is his deal. I know my father. He won't back down."

Hermione glanced around the ballroom quickly. She saw Kingsley talking with Arthur and a few other Ministry employees. His back was to the dance floor. He wouldn't know where she was.

"Now or never, Granger."

Glaring at Draco, she gathered her skirt in her hands and swept through the balcony.

_You are strong. You are brave. You are strong. You are brave. _

"Ah, Miss Granger. I must confess, part of me didn't think you'd show yourself."

Hermione pulled herself up and glared at the blond-haired wizard standing by the edge of the balcony, one hand resting on his cane. Lucius Malfoy was a beautiful man. Tall, lean, he had a way of holding himself that exuded confidence and arrogance. He looked healthier than the last time she saw him this close. It was a broken man who "welcomed" her to Malfoy Manor earlier that year. She understood from conversations with Draco that the Malfoys were prisoners in their own home by that point, but she didn't see any of them tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange. She ran her hand down her arm unconsciously, missing Lucius' quick flash of pain at her gesture.

"Draco says you have information."

He lifted a brow at the familiar use of his son's name. He knew the pair was friendly and part of him understood what drew Draco to the young witch. She may be Muggle-born, but she was brilliant and talented with an affinity for magic. If things had been different, he would very much support a romantic relationship between the two.

Wouldn't that set the Wizarding World on its head?

"Very well," he said, taking a seat on wrought-iron chaise with a cream-colored cushion. He gestured for Hermione to join him.

She shook her head. "No."

"Miss Granger, I understand your reluctance –"

"You understand nothing."

" – but I am a different man. And, I might add, the information I have for you was not easy to come by. Part of my agreement with the Ministry was not to have anything to do with the Dark Arts, yet I still made some inquiries on your behalf."

"So it's dark magic," Hermione said, taking a seat. "A specific spell? Is it revenge or something bigger?"

"Both. You bested Dolohov in London. The Dark Lord was most displeased. The same thing happened with Yaxley at the Ministry. They want their revenge."

"So why didn't they kill me in Diagon Alley when they had a chance?"

"They needed something from you first."

Hermione sat back. "My blood."

"Precisely."

She sat back. Blood was a precious commodity in the Wizarding World. Families would use it for protection spells and enemies … It could destroy a person and their entire lineage, only Hermione didn't have blood ties to anyone in the Wizarding World.

"I'm Muggle-born," she stated.

"I'm aware," Lucius said dryly.

She resisted rolling her eyes. A cooperative Lucius would tell her more. "So it doesn't make sense."

"Blood can be used for more than death. There are some spells that use a person's blood to awaken the dead. In this case …"

"Voldemort."

"Yes."

"How?"

Lucius shook his head. "I don't know."

"Why me and not Harry?"

"He no longer has a link to Mr. Potter. You, on the other hand ... Think of the first time you met Dolohov."

"It was at the Ministry of Magic. He cursed me."

"Correct. And no one ever learned what curse it was, correct?"

Hermione nodded.

"There is a chance that whatever curse he used, part of its aftermath still resides in you. Because the Dark Lord made an appearance that night, the residual magic could be enough of a link."

Hermione could deal with death. In a way, she'd been preparing for it since fourth year. What she could not deal with was the possibility that Lord Voldemort would rise again. It would kill Harry. She'd kill herself before that ever happened.

"Miss Granger?" Lucius asked, placing his hand on Hermione's shoulder. The touch was enough to jolt her out of her thoughts. She jumped up as if burned.

"My apologies," he said. "You looked ill. I didn't mean to frighten you."

Hermione took a deep breath. She needed to think. She needed to plan. She needed to get out of here. "I apologize for overreacting, Mr. Malfoy. You've been quite helpful and for that, I'm grateful."

He stood up, too. "Your appreciation isn't necessary. You've been a good friend to Draco, Miss Granger; for that alone, I would help you. If I learn more, I will be sure to pass it on. For now, though, I suggest you stay close to Minister Shacklebolt. Of course, that is easy when one is in love, am I right?"

Hermione studied his shrewd expression. He knew. And yet with those words, he essentially vowed not to say anything. Tilting her head in acknowledgement, she walked back to the ballroom, her mind still trying to grasp everything she had learned, when she crashed into a hard body.

"Where have you been?" Kingsley asked, his grip on her arm tight, his eyes narrowed as they swept down her body. Satisfied she was all right, he pulled her to him, breathing in the scent of her in effort to dispel his unease. He didn't like the bubble of panic that surfaced when he didn't see her. He'd never felt that way before. He hoped to never feel that way again.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, her arms going around his waist. "I was feeling faint and needed air. Draco was supposed to tell you."

Kingsley gave a quiet chuckle. "I believe he was distracted by Miss Lovegood."

Hermione pulled away. "Luna? Really?"

Kingsley nodded to the couple on the dance floor. Draco had the petite blond in his arms and was obviously star struck as they swayed together.

"Their children will be very blond," Hermione murmured.

Kingsley laughed again, kissing the top of Hermione's head. "How are you feeling, love? Do you want to dance some more or are you ready to leave?"

"It's New Year's Eve," she replied. "We have to stay until midnight."

"Then we'll stay," he said, dragging her out to the dance floor once more.

* * *

><p>It was nearly two in the morning when Hermione flopped into bed wearing an extra-long T-shirt. Despite her misgivings about the ball, and in spite of her conversation with Lucius, she had a wonderful time. She danced with Kingsley some more, but also made sure to partner with Draco so she could question him about Luna. She danced an awkward waltz with Arthur – clearly Ron's lack of dancing skills were an inherited trait – and enjoyed spinning around the floor with Blaise Zabini. She was in Kingsley's arms at midnight and, caught up in the moment, kissed him, not caring who was watching as she deepened his polite press of his lips against hers, moaning as his arms tightened around her waist. She told herself she was caught up in the moment, but the truth was she missed him. She missed spending time with him, talking to him, teasing him and, yes, kissing him. It suddenly seemed so juvenile to spend the last week avoiding him when there was a very good chance she'd be dead soon. Shouldn't she be enjoying herself?<p>

Tossing back her covers, Hermione got out of bed and walked through her suite, crossed the hall, and knocked on Kingsley's door.

"Hermione?" he was wearing a pair of dark blue cotton sleep pants and nothing else. His eyes looked heavy, as if he just woke up. She could see his alertness coming back to him as he pulled her into his room, shielding her body with his as he peered into the dark hallway. "What happened? Are you all right?"

She wrapped her arms around him and pressed her cheek to his naked back. "I couldn't sleep," she murmured. "May I sleep with you?"

He turned and lowered his wand, pulling out of her grasp. "Hermione, we've talked about this. It isn't a good -"

"I'm not asking you to have sex with me, Kingsley," she sighed. "I just … I don't want to be alone. Can you, for tonight, please save the lecture and hold me? Please?"

He sighed, bringing his hand up to push back the hair covering her face. It was still smooth and sleek. He missed the wildness of her curls. She took the gesture as a yes and walking forward, resting her head against his chest. She left her hands at her sides, as if she was afraid too much contact would make him change his mind. Bending down to lift her in his arms bridal style, he carried her to his king-sized bed, placed her on his navy blue cotton sheets. He set his wand on the nightstand and slid in next to her, pulling the overs over both of them before drawing her towards him so she was nestled to his side, her head on his chest. He took her hand in his and laid it over his heart.

"Sleep, love. We'll talk tomorrow."

* * *

><p><strong>I need to go back to the reviews from the earlier chapters so I can properly thank those who suggested Dolohov and Yaxley need Hemrione to bring Voldemort back. I haven't forgotten. I'll sing your praises next chapter!<strong>


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: Harry Potter does not belong to me.**

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><p>She was gone when he opened his eyes.<p>

He sat up, amazed. In all the times he shared a bed with a woman, none of them had ever snuck out without him knowing though, to be honest, none of them ever felt the need to sneak out the next day. Usually he was the one making a quick and quiet getaway.

Chuckling softly, he laid back down, missing the weight of her softness next to him more than he wanted to admit. She fell asleep moments after they were in bed, her breathing soft and even. He stayed awake, enjoying the feeling of her in his arms too much to close his eyes. He lifted her arm, whispered the spell to remove the glamour, and studied the letters carved into her delicate skin, his eyes glowing with rage. If anyone found a spell to bring Bellatrix Lestrange back to life so they could kill her again, he'd gladly join Arthur to make sure the bitch suffered.

Kingsley idly wondered what time it was, but didn't reach for his wand to check. The Ministry was closed; he had the day to himself. He wondered if Hermione would be up for doing something. It felt last night as if they had reached some sort of truce. She wasn't as angry as she was a week ago and she wasn't deliberately trying to make him crazy, though he wasn't completely sure. She did dance with a lot of Slytherins last night. He chose to ignore Minerva's laugh as he watched her in the arms of the Zabini boy, not wanting to notice how well the pair looked together.

He rolled over, breathing in her scent lingering on his pillow.

He wished she stayed.

* * *

><p>Hermione pulled her hair into a ponytail , stifling a yawn as she did so. It was nearly 10 a.m., but she could have slept another hour at least. She thought about it when she first woke up in Kingsley's arms a couple of hours ago. His face was relaxed when he slept, the strain of leadership absent as he dreamed. She took advantage of the moment to study the man. There was a slight stubble on his chin and cheeks; even the top of his head. She idly wondered what he looked like with hair, but decided this look suited him better. Hair would take away from his chiseled features, strong jaw, eyes that could burn with heat, with temper, with passion.<p>

She missed the way he used to look at her, as if he wanted to take a bite. The few times he held her in his strong embrace, his hands tracing, exploring the contours of her body … it wasn't enough. It would never be enough. He touched something in her no man had ever touched before, igniting a flame of passion that refused to stop burning. If she wasn't sure he'd reject her, she'd lean forward, suck his bottom lip into her mouth and nibble. She'd run her hands down him, trace his muscles with her fingers, her lips. He was all smooth dark skin, the few scars she could see only made him more beautiful.

Sighing, she slowly shifted until she was able to duck under his arm and leave his bed. She wanted him, but she wasn't going to throw herself at him. If he wanted her, he'd have to make the first move. It was a new year and she did not want to start it getting rejected again.

* * *

><p>"What are your plans for today?"<p>

Hermione looked up from her book. She was curled up on the couch in the library, a cup of tea on the coffee table in front of her, a fire in the fireplace. She was wearing jeans. a thick pair of orange woolen socks made for her by Molly and one of Ron's old sweatshirts. She looked nothing like the woman who attended a ball at Malfoy Manor the night before and was happy to have an excuse not to worry about her hair or makeup. She was very much looking forward to having a free day and had actually forgotten that Kingsley had the day off, too.

"Your looking at it," she said holding up her book.

Kingsley sat on the other end, pulling Hermione's feet into his lap. He idly ran his hands up and down her arches as he watched the flames in the fireplace. "Any chance I can talk you into going for a walk?"

Hermione glanced over her shoulder. There was frost on the window. Of all the things she didn't want to do today, going outside topped the list. Let's face it; she wasn't much of an outdoor girl in the best of weather.

"Come on," Kingsley wheedled. "I'm going crazy in here."

"It's two in the afternoon. You've barely been awake for four hours and yet you're going crazy?"

"Ministry schedule, love. It's mucked up my ability to relax. I need some fresh air. I need to walk somewhere without a team following me. Please?"

She sighed, but put her book down. "I want a longer foot rub later."

"Deal," he said, jumping up and pulling her to her feet, his strength bringing making her crash into him. Caught unaware, he fell back on the couch, Hermione on top of him. He opened his mouth to say something about finding something active to do inside instead, but stopped himself, not wanting to revert back to the tension he suffered the past few days, but damn she felt great in his arms. Even her hands pressed against his chest as she struggled to get to her feet made him want to groan.

"I'll meet you by the front door in five minutes," she said, back on her feet.

He nodded wordlessly, holding his breath until she left the room, then letting it out on one, frustrated sigh.

* * *

><p>It snowed nearly six inches during the night, giving Hermione the impression of seeing life through a glass snow globe. When she shared her observation with Kingsley, he asked her to explain, reminding her that despite the months he spent living in Muggle London while assigned to protect the Prime Minister, there was much about her world he didn't understand.<p>

"What was your favorite thing about that assignment?" she asked, her gloved hand in his as they trudged through the snow, their tracks disturbing what was once beautiful in its perfect stillness, prompting Hermione to cast a spell that made their tracks disappear.

Kingsley thought for a moment. The transportation options were interesting, especially the tube. It amazed him that Muggles willingly went underground without thought that they may never come up again. He never had an excuse to try the airplanes and asked Hermione if it was like flying on a broom. She giggled and said you wouldn't even know you were in the air if you didn't look out the window.

"What's the point then?"

"To travel efficiently," she said. "Muggles fly because they want to travel great distances quickly. Apparation doesn't exist for then, remember?"

It was a horrible way to live, in Kingsley's opinion.

"Come on," she chided. "There had to be something you liked."

He had it. "Coffee makers."

She stopped walking. "Excuse me?"

"His receptionist was ill one day and he needed coffee, so I offered to make it. I pretended the model was new and someone showed me how. Hermione, it's like brewing potions but better because you see the results right away. One minute, it's just water and coffee beans; the next: coffee!" His eyes were bright with the memory. For a moment, Hermione wished she could give Kingsley a coffee maker. Most electrical items didn't work in their world because the magic was too strong, but she had managed to modify a few things over the years, including the telly at Grimmauld Place. She made a mental note to try the same charms with a coffee maker.

"What about you?" he asked.

"Me?"

"What was the first thing you remember loving about magic?"

She didn't even have to think. "My friends."

"That's not magical," Kingsley said.

"When you grew up a lonely bookworm, it is," she replied.

Kingsley watched her out of the corner of her eye, thinking about what she said or, rather, what she didn't say. She was a quiet girl, comfortable spending hours alone with her books and her thoughts, but he also saw how close she was to her friends, how much they meant to her. He assumed that was because of all they'd been through together, but obviously it was more than that. Suddenly, her need to say goodbye to Hogwarts that night made sense.

He squeezed her hand in silent understanding, smiling to himself when she squeezed back.

"Do you like being the Minister of Magic?" she asked.

He looked down, not surprised she'd be the one to pick up on his sometimes lack of enthusiasm for the role thrust upon him. "Most of the time, I do," he told her.

"But?"

He stopped walking. They were at the edge of the woods that bordered the manor's property. Walking to a downed stump, he sat, pulling Hermione down next to him.

"It's not something I aspired to be," he admitted. "When we won, we needed a leader, someone we could trust. Honestly, there's very few I trust, so when it was suggested I take the post, I agreed. I felt better knowing I'd be directly involved in the future of our world. And I told myself it was a temporary."

"Who knew Kingsley Shacklebolt would inspire so many witches and wizards?" she teased reminding him of his landslide election victory.

He preened a little. True, this wasn't something he sought, but he liked winning.

"Will you run again after this term ends?"

He shrugged. Minister elections were every six years. There were days he didn't think he would last another day with the title weighing him down, but then he'd remember the good they'd accomplished already, all of the work that still needed to be done. He didn't say it aloud, but yes, he'd run again and for the third and final term, too, if applicable. After that, who knew? Maybe he'd find a witch, settle down, and spend the rest of his years surrounded by his family. He liked kids. He'd have a family as big as the Weasley clan if he could.

"What about you?" he asked. "What are your plans after graduation?"

She nudged him with her body. "Is that your way of hinting toward the auror academy again?" she joked.

He shook his head. "You already turned me down once, Hermione, though you never did tell me why."

She shuffled her boots in the snow, pushing it together to form a small ridge between her feet. Reaching down, she picked up a handful and formed a snowball. "I'm not a fighter, Kingsley."

"I beg to differ," he said.

"That was different," she said, remembering how they fought together at Hogwarts. "I didn't have a choice. But to deliberately choose that life ... I'm not you, or Harry or Ron. I don't want to constantly expose myself to the dark elements of our world, even if it is to make it better. Call me selfish, but I feel like I've done my part and now I want to enjoy my life."

She let the snowball fall to the ground. "Does that make me a horrible person?"

He wrapped an arm around her in a casual hug. "Not at all. Sometimes I forget your only 19. You've spent nearly half of your life fighting. You deserve a chance to do something else, to be able to walk down the street and smile at people, not study them to see if they're a threat."

"You don't do that."

"I do."

"That's not what I meant. I know you do that. I know you followed Andromeda and I to London when we were shopping. I know you deliberately sit with your back to the wall at restaurants when you can, and panic when it isn't possible. I know that even now you are constantly scanning the grounds to make sure we're alone. That's who you are, Kingsley. I also know you worry that makes you paranoid, that one day you are going to wake up and discover you are just like Mad-Eye, but you're not. Mad-Eye." She turned to look at him, her eyes serious. "He was a great auror and a wonderful mentor, but the job took something from him. He was gruff because he was afraid to lose those he loved. You aren't like that. You're a fighter, but you're also a protector. That's what made you a great auror; that's why you're an incredible Minister of Magic."

He stared at her as she talked, speechless. How did she know this? How could she perfectly summarize his fears when he didn't always understand them? She smiled gently at him, sliding one hand out of her gloves to touch the side of his face. "Don't be afraid of who you are, Kingsley. I, for one, think you are amazing."

Standing, she tugged her glove back on and headed back to the manor. He watched her for a moment, then stood quickly and ran after her, not stopping when he reached her, choosing to tackle her to the ground, twisting at the last minute so she landed on top of him.

"What are you -"

He cut her off by cupping her head with one hand and bringing her face to his, touching her lips lightly once, twice, then diving in, pouring days of frustration into his kiss, his tongue pressing into her mouth so he could taste all he denied himself. Rolling over to press her to the ground, he deepened his kiss, moaning when she responded.

"I want you," he confessed. "Gods, Hermione, I want you more than I've ever wanted anyone."

She pressed her hands against his chest and pushed, separating them by inches. "I'm still a virgin," she told him, her expression serious.

"Not for much longer," he growled, ducking his head to kiss along her jaw.

"I mean it," she gasped, arching her neck to give him better access. "Stop right now if you don't plan to see it through or swear to God I will hex you so hard, you'll never be able to have sex again."

He laughed, pulling back and jumping to his feet, reaching down to hoist her into his arms. "I'll see it through," he promised, a cocky smile on his face. "Again and again and again."


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: A shout out to the following readers for their suggestions as to why the Death Eaters want Hermione: Sampdoria, SereniteRose, chupeechan, Kittyinaz, NeonDomino, and two guests, including Elizabeth. I'm sure that now that she finally gets to shag Kingsley, Hermione is as grateful for your input as I am. Here's hoping the wait was worth it!**

**I do not own Harry Potter.**

* * *

><p>He threw her over his shoulder, making her laugh as he marched back to the manor, his strides strong and purposeful. Like most girls, Hermione spent considerable time imagining what her first experience would be like but none of her daydreams had the man carrying her like a sack of potatoes. Considering the great view it gave her of Kingsley's back end, she wasn't complaining.<p>

It should be illegal for a politician to be as fit as he was. Considering he was someone who made laws, that probably wasn't going to happen. The idea of Kingsley using himself as an example for why such great physiques were distracting made her giggle, causing Kingsley to smack her lightly on her own derriere.

"I'll have you know that lovemaking is a serious endeavor, Miss Granger," he said what she called his public tone. Reaching the front door, he set her down, and took her shoulders in his hands. His face was stoic, but his eyes were twinkling mischievously.

"My apologies, Minister," she murmured. "As you know, I'm not experience in manners such as this."

"Precisely," he responded, opening the door and ushering her inside, his hand at the small of her back. Brushing the snow from her coat, he unwound her scarf from her neck and let it fall to floor, followed by her heavy coat and mittens. He pulled off his own outwear, leaving them to lay where they fell, and picked her up again, this time bridal-style as he walked to the steps. "Do what I tell you and I guarantee you'll have a good time."

"Guarantee, hmm? Pretty sure of yourself, aren't you?"

Letting her slide slowly down his body at his bedroom entrance, he leaned forward to rest his forehead against hers. "Do you have doubts?"

She shrugged, loving how casual he was making this. The butterflies that started when he promised to see things through were practically gone, replaced by the ache and need he aroused. "It's not like I have anything to compare it to, right? Not a bad deal for you, my friend."

He laughed and leaned against the door jam, studying her. "While that's true, I do want to ensure you enjoy it. Consider it a public service, if you will."

She snickered. "I'm all ears, Minister."

"Hmm. How about this? I guarantee you will come screaming my name."

"You do, do you?"

"Yes. You'll scream my name, say it on a sigh, and beg. I don't care what I'm doing to you when the begging starts, but it will happen."

She raised an eyebrow. In that moment, he struck her as the cockiest wizard in the world. It shouldn't be a turn on, but it was. Her knickers were wet, bordering on soaked. If he didn't shut up and kiss her soon, she was going to make his begging guarantee happen embarrassingly fast. "And if I don't?" she asked, pleased that her voice was steady despite her shaky knees.

"What do you want?"

She smiled. Slowly. "You, on your knees in your study, licking me. I'll be sitting in your chair."

He smirked. "And if you do everything I say you will, I want the same thing, only you are the one on your knees pleasuring me."

She held out her hand to shake. He took it and then tugged her forward until she crashed into him, his hard cock pressed into her stomach as he nipped her lips. "Let's get started, shall we?"

* * *

><p>He wanted to lighten the mood. The last time he had her like this, things were intense. It was too much, especially for someone without prior experience. He was determined to make her first time memorable, to erase the hurt he caused when he turned away from her, to imprint himself on her so that whatever happened after this, she would never forget the man who had her first. He wasn't kidding when he said she would scream, sigh and beg. He was only teasing about how often she would do it. He was determined to make her scream more than once. He couldn't wait to hear his name on her lips in the height of passion. It was time to stop imaging it and make his all-too-frequent daydreams a reality.<p>

Keeping his arms around her, his lips on hers, he walked her backwards into his suite, guiding her through his drawing room to the bedroom, not stopping until the backs of her knees hit his bed. Breaking the kiss, he put his hands on her shoulders and pressed lightly so make her sit. Going to his knees, he slowly slid his hands from the top of her thighs to her feet, stopping to unlace the worn hiking boots, sliding each one off her feet, followed by her woolen socks. He took her left foot in his large hands and rubbed briskly to warm it up, repeating his actions with the right.

"You could just do that all night," she sighed.

He snorted, getting back to his feet to toe off his own heavy boots before placing his hands on either side of Hermione to kiss her. She opened her mouth eagerly, her tongue tracing his as he leaned forward. Wrapping one arm around her waist, he used his other to move them up the bed, not stopping until her head was on his pillows. Pulling back slightly, he studied her, a slight frown on his face.

"What?" she asked, worried.

"Your hair. I want it loose." He helped her sit up, watching as she reached back to take it out of the elastic holding it back from her face. Running his hands through her hair – thank Merlin it was curly again – he sighed. "I've imagined your hair spread over my pillow as I'm moving inside you so much."

"It looked better last night," she said.

He shook his head. "It looked gorgeous, I'll give you that, but not better. This is how I like it. Wild. Unbound," he murmured as he lifted the sweatshirt from her body, his eyes darkening as he took in the sight of her breasts clad in a simple blue bra. Reaching behind her, he quickly undid the clasp and slid it off, throwing it over his shoulder. He wanted to kiss her, to lick and nibble, to take in his fill of her beauty, but he needed her naked first. Helping her lay back, his hands slid to her jeans, deftly undoing to button and sliding down the zipper, pulling them down her legs. He moved to do the same with her knickers, but stopped, eyes blazing at the image of her clad in something but a simple pair of silky purple knickers. He slowly crawled up her body, his hands tracing every contour, deciding to leave them there for a moment.

"You're wearing too many clothes," she told him as he settled on top of her, his forearms on either side of her bearing most of his weight.

"I said I'd make you scream, sigh and beg. I didn't say I'd be naked while I did it," he smirked before bringing his lips to her neck, ready to make good on his promise.

* * *

><p>She arched her neck, giving him better access as he kissed and licked and nibbled, the lower half of his body slowly rocking against her center. She wanted more. She wanted him to suck, to bite, press his full weight into her. She wanted to feel his hands on her, but he seemed determine to be soft, to tease, as he shifted to suck on her earlobe, his breath warm on her.<p>

"Kingsley," she sighed.

He chuckled softly. "There's the sigh," he whispered in her ear before moving to the other side to repeat his actions. "Do it again, love."

Part of her didn't want to, but who was she fooling? She was putty in the man's hands. Twisting her head as he gently bit her ear lobe, she sighed again.

"Very good," he murmured, his body moving to the side of hers so he could slide one hand down her body while the other propped him up. She moaned as his hand ghosted over her breasts, barely touching her nipples. She arched, wanting more, but he didn't respond as he retraced his actions, slow and soft.

"Kingsley …"

"What, love? Are you begging me?"

She opened her eyes to glare at him. "No."

"Hmm. Then how about …" his hand drifted lower, to the top of her knickers, barely grazing her wet heat.

"Yes," she sighed, groaning as he brought his hand back up to her breasts. He touched her again, this time a little harder, his fingers circling her nipples, moving when she arched into him, his hand trailing down her body to her knickers once more. She was dripping with excitement, with need. She couldn't stop herself. She was twisting on the bed, her hips moving instinctively in a dance as old as time. He laid his palm on her knickers once more, one finger sliding inside to graze her core.

"You're wet," he crooned. "Practically soaked."

"Kingsley …"

"What do you want, Hermione? Do you want to feel my finger inside you? Do you want to come with my finger slowly moving in and out of you?"

"Yes …"

"Have you pleasured yourself this way, Hermione?"

She blushed, not wanting to answer, but he moved his hand, resting in on her flat stomach.

"Kingsley …"

"I asked you a question," he said in a firm voice she'd never heard before. Dear God, it made her even wetter. "Have you touched yourself?"

She nodded.

He smiled. "Have you touched yourself thinking of me?"

"Yes," she whispered, knowing her face must be bright red.

"Don't be embarrassed," he told her, once again moving his hand to cup her, this time his fingers grasping her knickers so he could slide them down her slim legs, dropping them on the floor. "I've pleasured myself thinking of you, imagining you riding me, your body so tight around mine. I've imagined you wet for me, wanting me," he continued, his deft fingers exploring her folds, "but this is so much better."

"Oh, God," she groaned, her hips moving once more as he spread her, one finger sliding inside. He felt incredible. She moaned as he slid in a second finger, his thumb circling her clit. She thrashed her head from side to side, her hips pumping with the rhythm set by his fingers. She had no idea she could feel this way from his fingers. She was so close, so …

"Kingsley!" she shouted, the orgasm slamming into her with a force she didn't recognize. Panting, she stared up at the man who watched her, his eyes unreadable as he slid his fingers out of her. Bringing them to his lips, he licked slowly, the gesture making her moan.

"You taste amazing," he whispered. "I want more."

Before she could comprehend what he meant by that, his lips were on her, his tongue exploring where his fingers were, licking her like a man starved. He was driving her back up, her body taut with tension as he lapped up her excitement from her first orgasm, determined to make her come again. She reached down to grasp his head, wanting to pull him up – this was too much – but instead she clasped him closer to her, not caring when he looked up to smirk knowingly.

"Beg me," he taunted, pressing light kisses on her stomach, his hands holding her hips down. "Beg me to taste you, to fuck you with my tongue, to lick you clean. You know you want to."

She bit her lip, holding back the words. He lowered his head to run his nose along her, inhaling her scent. His tongue darted out, briefly to flick her clit. She gasped. He did it again, a little harder, a little longer.

"Please," she begged, her voice breaking with need. "Please, Kingsley. I need to come. I need you to make me come."

He wrapped his lips around her clot, flicking and sucking. She thrust her hips forward, wanting more. He responded by sliding his hands around to cup her arse, lifting her to him, his broad shoulders keeping her legs apart as he devoured.

"Yes!" she cried. "I'm so close, so close. Don't stop … God, please, don't stop!"

He continued his ministrations, feeling her legs tremble as the need built. She knew this orgasm was going to be huge. She could feel it building, bigger than anything she'd experienced before. It was going to flatten her, destroy her, but she didn't care.

"Kingsley!" she screamed as she exploded.

* * *

><p>He ripped off his clothes, buttons popping off of his shirt, his jeans kicked off of his legs, determined to be inside her before her pleasure subsided. This was how he wanted to take her. Moving in between her legs, he placed a hand under each thigh so she was open to him.<p>

"Take me in your hands," he demanded, his expression fierce as she opened her heavy eyes and focused on him. "Come on, love. I need to be in you. Now!"

She didn't hesitate, guiding him to her. He moved in slowly, her walls still fluttering from her last release. She sighed as he pressed forward, slowly. She was wet, but tight. Gritting his teeth, he moved out, just a bit, and pushed forward again.

"You feel amazing, love," he told her, pulling out once again and pressing forward. This time he could feel the barrier of her innocence. He looked her in the eye. She smiled, slowly.

"Take me," she demanded, bringing her arms up to wrap around his neck.

Rearing back, he did. She tensed, crying out at the intrusion, her fingernails digging into him. He moved slowly, in and out, in a gentle rhythm. "Gods, Hermione, you're incredible," he whispered. "You are so tight, love. You are going to make me come so fast, it's embarrassing."

He felt her grip loosen as he spoke, her legs relaxing. Taking that as a sign, he increased the tempo of his thrusts, smiling as she rose to meet him. He watched her as he moved. Her face was flushed, her eyes closed, head thrown back. Her breasts jostled with their movement. Lowering his head, he took one nipple in his mouth, sucking hard, loving the gasp she made.

"Again," she demanded.

He moved to her other breast and did the same, this time adding his teeth. Again, she gasped in pleasure.

"Fuck, you are so responsive," he muttered, lifting his head to watch her. "Open your eyes, Hermione. Look at me!"

She did, her eyes dark with want, need.

"I want you to look at me when I make you come," he demanded. "I want you to remember I was the first man to touch you this way, the first one inside your incredible body, the first one to feel your pussy tighten as you come."

She nodded, her eyes widening at his words.

"That's my girl," he said, his face fierce as he thrust harder, loving the gasp she made. "I can tell you're close, Hermione. I can feel you tightening on me. Gods, you are so fucking amazing!"

He changed the angle of his thrusts, so he was stimulating her clitoris each time he slid inside her.

"Yes!" she cried, closing her eyes.

"Eyes on me!" he yelled, his gaze furious as she stared at him. He didn't know how much longer he would last. She was too much. He could feel his balls tighten. "Come, baby! I need to feel you! Come!"

She was helpless not to, his words giving her the final push as she jumped off the cliff into the void, screaming his name as she did. He responded seconds later with one final thrust, spilling his seed inside her as he repeated her name in a continuous chant. He slid his hands out from under her thighs, her legs falling boneless to the bed as he slumped on top of her, his head on her chest, the pounding of his heart echoing in his head as he struggled to catch his breath. After a moment, he summoned what was left of his strength and rolled off of her, wrapping an arm around her waist so she rolled with him, her chest pressed against his. He lifted his leg over hers to anchor her to him, burying his face in her curls.

"You won," she murmured in a exhausted voice.

He didn't have the energy to laugh. Instead, he kissed her on the head and pulled her closer. "I think we both did."


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: Everyone seemed pleased with the deliciousness between our beloved characters, even if they did take their sweet time getting there. (Stupid Kingsley and his stupid honor.) Yay!**

**What will happen next, asks the person who does not own Harry Potter. Well, the couple gets to enjoy their time in the bubble ... at least for this chapter.**

* * *

><p>Hermione didn't know what was considered appropriate pillow talk, but she highly doubted her growling stomach sufficed. She buried her face in Kingsley's chest in embarrassment as he chuckled, shifting slightly in search of his wand to check the time.<p>

"It's nearly dinner time," he murmured, moving back to where he was, tightening his hold on her once more.

"Mmm-hmm."

"You barely ate lunch."

He felt her shoulders shift in a shrug.

"I could call Walter and -"

"NO!" she shrieked, sitting up in a panic. Where were her clothes? She whipped her head back and forth as she took in the darkening room, unable to spot her jeans and sweatshirt. Crawling to the edge of the bed, she leaned over and grabbed Kingsley's shirt from the floor, shrugging into it, not noticing the buttons that had popped off in his haste to remove it.

He hid his smile as he watched her, his amusement shifting to lust as she buttoned the few surviving buttons on his shirt. She was kneeling in the middle of his bed, hair wild, face flushed, the scent of sex still heavy in the air.

"You are beautiful," he murmured, sitting up so he could kiss her, one hiding sliding underneath her hair to cup her head. He kept the pressure light, almost teasing, loving how she sighed in response before opening to him. He wanted her; not with the vigor he just took her, but like this. Slow. Unhurried. Peaceful.

Her stomach growled again.

"Why?" she whined, burying her face in her hands.

Shaking his head, Kingsley got out of bed and walked to his wardrobe, completely comfortable with his lack of clothing as he rummaged for a pair of sweatpants. Hermione watched, taking in his broad shoulders, narrow hips and so-perfect-it-should-be-illegal arse, nearly moaning in protest as he pulled on the dark cotton. She didn't get to spend much time appreciating the beauty that was Kingsley Shacklebolt's body their first go-around. She hoped she'd have the chance to rectify that soon.

" … all right?"

She pulled her eyes away from her extensive perusal. "I'm sorry; what?"

He grinned and walked to his bed, taking her hand to pull her off of it. Damn, she looked sexy in his shirt. It bagged on her small frame, hanging nearly to her knees, the gap in the middle giving him a sneak peek at one pert nipple.

Her gentle throat clearing snapped him out of his perusal. "Right. I suggested we have dinner in the library. I've got some papers I need to look over and you can go back to your book, all right?" he repeated, unable to stop himself from running his fingers through her hair. He wasn't lying when he told her earlier he loved her hair when it was loose and wild. He knew she's conjure an elastic soon and pull it away from her face, but he hoped she'd leave it down a bit longer. The thoroughly-shagged look was quite fetching.

What he suggested sounded lovely. It was casual, relaxing. She wondered if she should go to her rooms to get dressed. Or maybe he wanted her to stay in his shirt? Was their time together, like that, over? He never promised to shag her more than once. True, they made that ridiculous wager, but he was joking, wasn't he? Did she want him to be? Oh God, what was she doing? What were they doing?

"Stop thinking, Hermione," Kingsley commanded softly, cupping her face gently in his large hands. He kissed her softly once, then again. "We're going to have dinner. We're going to relax. I'm going to pretend to work while I watch you out of the corner of my eye. You are going to pretend to read while imagining me naked and then we're going to snog like a couple of fourth years on the couch. After that, I'm bringing you back to my bed. I'm not finished with you, understand?"

She nodded.

"And does that sound suitable to you?"

She let out the breath she wasn't even aware she was holding. "It does."

He smiled. "Good."

* * *

><p>They dined on roast chicken over a bed of wild rice, with a spinach and strawberry salad, and chocolate mousse for dessert. Hermione declined Kingsley's offer of wine, choosing to stick to water as she curled up on her end of the couch, a blanket tucked around her legs, the book she'd been reading that afternoon back in her lap. A fire was roaring in the fireplace and Kingsley watched, intrigued, as Hermione focused on the tome in her lap, one finger twirling an errant curl idly around her finger as she devoured the words.<p>

He looked back at the file in his lap. It contained his recommendations for the Order of Merlin. Hermione's name was on the list, a distinction he was sure she'd try to talk him out of, which is why he had yet to mention it. Several Order members were on the list, including two who were no longer with them: Remus Lupin and Severus Snape. He doubted the Wizengamot would vote against his choices, but if there were any names that would give them pause, it was the werewolf and the ex-Death Eater. He'd already asked Harry to testify on the men's behalf. If it was necessary, he'd ask Ron and Hermione to testify, too.

"You're not working; you're daydreaming," she told him, her eyes still on his book.

"I'm thinking," he countered.

"Mmm," she replied, a knowing smirk on her lips. He assumed that was the know-it-all look often associated with her, the one Snape had complained about many times and Ron still did. Eager to wipe it from her face, he threw his file on the ground, grabbed her book from her hands and tossed it aside, too, before pulling her on to his lap.

"You're determined not to let me finish that book, aren't you?" she laughed, looping her arms around his neck, the tips of her fingers brushing his skin softly as she studied him.

"What?" he asked, not sure what to make of the expression on her face.

"You're gorgeous," she responded without a hint of embarrassment.

He, on the other hand, blushed, the endearment one he had heard used to describe him before. He was aware of his good looks, and used them to his advantage when necessary, but for some reason what she thought when she looked at him meant more than any of the witches before her. That was something he was going to have to think about later, he decided as he eyed the way Hermione was studying him. "I don't know if I like that look in your eyes," he said in a cautious voice. "The last time you had that look, I had to suffer through dinner with the most uncomfortable hard-on."

"Poor Kingsley," she murmured, shifting so instead of sitting on his jap, she was straddling him. She moved her hands to the front of his chest, pressing against him until he reclined on the couch, his head propped up by the few pillows leaning against the armrest. She slowly slid her hands down his chest, admiring the way his muscles shifted at her touch. A few scars marred his skin, but they didn't take away from his magnificence. Instead, they were a reminder that the man beneath her, the man watching her with hooded eyes, was a warrior. She was drawn to his tattoo, remembering how he sighed when she traced it with her tongue the last time she sat in his lap. Wanting to hear it again, she leaned forward to repeat her actions, smiling when she felt his hands go to the elastic in her hair, slowly slipping it from her curls. He ran his fingers through the wide tresses, a habit of his she was getting used to, so her curls spread over him as she nipped and licked the image of the Phoenix on his dark skin. He shifted restlessly, not wanting her to stop her careful administrations, but at the same time wanting more.

"Feeling anxious, are we?" she murmured, swirling her tongue around his left nipple, loving the way it pebbled in response.

He groaned, his hands sliding to her waist. Gripping her tight, he pushed her down on his throbbing erection at the same time he thrust up. She sighed in response, her breath warm on his skin as she moved her hips to do it again.

"You're incredible," she murmured, kissing his collarbone. "I loved feeling you inside me, your cock sliding in and out. You were so deep, Kingsley, touching me in places I only imagined. I could barely hold on."

"Fuck," he sighed, closing his eyes as he let her words wash over him. She was nibbling along his jaw, her body moving sensuously against his, her hands kneading his chest.

"I know we're supposed to snog like fourth years for a bit, but I was always an advanced learner," she whispered in his ear. "Could you just take me to bed instead? And this time, can I be on top?"

He was off the couch, Hermione in his arms, barely a second before she finished her question. Untangling the blanket from her legs, he shifted until she was wrapped around him like a vine and walked toward his bedroom, trying desperately to ignore the feel of her lips on his ears, her teeth biting his ears, her whispered suggestions as he walked to his bedroom. She wiggled out of his arms when he got to his bed, slowly sliding down his body.

"Now," she murmured, taking the waistband of his sweatpants in her hands and slowly pushing them off his hips and down his legs to pool at his feet, "it's my turn to make you beg, and sigh, and shout."

Pushing him lightly on his chest, laughing as he obediently fell backwards onto his bed, she tugged his pants from his feet and crawled slowly up his body, still wearing his shirt. He grabbed hold of the cotton with his hands and began undoing the remaining buttons, sliding it down her shoulders, smiling as she copied his movement earlier that day and tossed it over her shoulder.

He ran his hands up her torso and cupped her breasts, moaning as she leaned forward to he could kiss and suckle her. She closed her eyes, loving the feel of his lips, his tongue, on her. she wasn't expecting the nip of his teeth, jumping at the sensation, but found she liked it directing his head to her other breast so he'd do it again. After another minute, _God he was good at that_, she sat back up and pushed his hands off of her.

"My turn," she reminded him, sliding down his body until she was kneeling between his legs. She took him in her hands, his cock jumping at her touch. He was heavier than she thought he'd be; softer, too. She ran her hands up and down his length, loving his moans of approval. Leaning down, she took the tip of him in her mouth, swirling her tongue around him lightly.

"Gods, yes," he hissed, struggling against the urge to thrust deeper into her mouth. "Please ... again."

She stopped and gave him a saucy look. "Are you begging?" she teased.

He lifted his head up slightly, his eyes dark with lust. "Fuck yeah," he growled.

Laughing, she resumed her ministrations, responding to his verbal and nonverbal cues. She didn't feel as awkward as she expected to. Instead, she felt a sense of power and his hands gripped her hair, his hips slowly thrusting, as he chanted her name. He was too large for her to take all the way in her mouth, but she learned she could use her hands to help her suck and stroke at the same time, making the man many dark wizards feared shout her name.

"Enough," he begged, sliding his hands under her arms to pull her away.

"I didn't want to stop," she pouted, her legs on either side of his waist as she listed herself over him. He slid his fingers through her folds, making sure she was wet enough to take him. She sighed and leaned back on her hands, her earlier complaint forgotten as she focused on what he was doing.

"I know, baby," he whispered hoarsely. "I don't want you to stop either, but you wanted to be on top."

Taking her hips in his hands, he lifted her so she was poised over his throbbing cock. She looked down, biting her lip in concentration as she slowly lowered herself on him. He sucked in his breath. It should be illegal for anything to feel this good. "Ride me," he pleaded, his fingers gripping her hips as he showed her how to move. She'd have bruises in the morning. As she slowly lifted herself up and down, her movements increasing in speed as she got comfortable and found her rhythm, he decided he wanted her to bear his marks.

"Kingsley," she whispered. "You feel so ... God!"

He could feel her fluttering. She was close. He was closer. Sliding a hand in-between their, he found her clit and circled it. She sucked in her breath and moved faster. He was ruthless, circling, pinching. She screamed.

"Yes!" he shouted, not able to hold himself back any longer. "Just like that!"

He roared his release, thrusting into her one last time as pleasure overtook him. She followed seconds later, too tired to do more than moan his name before she slumped on him. They were both sweaty, sticky and exhausted. Pulling Hermione up his body so he could again cradle her against him, Kingsley cast a _Scourgify_, smiling as Hermione mumbled a wandless spell to settle the blankets over their bodies.

Both were asleep within seconds.


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: So someone wanted to know if they took precautions against pregnancy. The answer is yes. Did I mention it? No. Did I think about working something in this chapter to make it obvious? Yes. But it was awkward, so we're going to go with the fact that she's 19 and taking a birth control potion so we can move along with the story. **

**Thus ends the public service announcement. :D**

* * *

><p>She was asleep when Kingsley opened his eyes, sprawled on her stomach on the right side of his bed, her face hidden by her hair. He watched the rise and fall of her back with each steady breath, content in knowing that she slept through the night, unburdened by dreams.<p>

He wanted her again. It was almost frightening how much he wanted her. He couldn't remember the last time he desired any witch as much as he wanted Hermione Granger. He got out of bed, telling himself that need would eventually dissipate. They'd been tiptoeing around each other for weeks, their mutual attraction acting as foreplay as they pretended to be a couple to the public and nothing more than friends when they were alone. Of course it was bound to erupt. Now that it had, they'd deal with the aftermath and move on with their lives, clean and simple.

Satisfied with his reasoning, Kingsley padded to the bathroom to shower. If he decided to have the water run cooler than usual, that was his prerogative.

* * *

><p>It was the running water that woke Hermione. She sat up, for a moment expecting to be in a tent in the woods with Harry and Ron. When it dawned on her that that water was the shower, not a stream, her shoulders slumped in relief – until she realized she was naked and the events of the day – and night – before came rushing back at her.<p>

Kingsley. Sex. Sex with Kingsley. Lots of sex with Kingsley. Losing her virginity to the fucking Minister of Magic. Oh God. All those years of Ron asking her if she was mental and finally she had an answer.

She was. She truly was.

Pulling the sheet up to her neck, she crawled out of Kingsley's bed and searched the floor for her clothes. Finding nothing, not even the shirt she borrowed after their first time together, she realized Walter or one of the other house elves she never saw must have collected them in the middle of the night. Deciding not to dwell on that or else she'd burst out laughing out of sheer embarrassment, she hitched the blanket up higher so she wouldn't trip on it in her dash from Kingsley's rooms to her own. Perhaps this wasn't proper morning after etiquette, but what did she know? Her instincts said it was best to flee and given how well instincts have helped her in the past, she was going to obey.

Leaning against her bedroom door, Hermione made herself take a deep breath. It was Saturday. Kingsley usually went to the Ministry on Saturday, but she remembered him mentioning that nearly everyone would be taking advantage of the long holiday weekend. She couldn't remember if everyone meant him, too. She tried to think, to recall the conversation, but all that ran through her mind was the image of him on top of her, her legs draped over his arms as he moved inside her, his face fierce as he told her to look at him, to keep her eyes open as he made her come.

She wanted him again. She flopped on her back on her bed at the realization. She was worse than a pubescent fifth year. Last night he said he wasn't finished with her. Did he mean then or was it more? Was this something they were going to do for the unforeseeable future? Was that even something wanted?

She snorted. Of course it was something she wanted. It was something she'd wanted for weeks, something she actually planned and plotted for when it looked like it wasn't going to happen; only her plans never went past the event itself.

New plan. Standing up, Hermione walked into her wardrobe. She was going to take a shower, get dressed and deal with whatever happened next as it happened. If that meant awkward morning after conversation over breakfast, she'd get it over with and move on. It wasn't like she didn't have other things to occupy her time. She'd start revising for her N.E.W.T.s soon. Oh, and she had two Death Eaters determined to kidnap and kill her so they could bring Lord Voldemort back from the dead. See? She had plenty to do.

* * *

><p>She was gone when he stepped out of the bathroom, a white towel knotted around his waist, several drops of water still clinging to his skin. He glared at the empty bed. He really needed to break her of that habit. He assumed she wanted to avoid an uncomfortable conversation, but they were living together. She couldn't evade him forever.<p>

Deciding to abandon his plan of spending a few quiet hours at the Ministry, Kingsley dressed casually in a pair of jeans, dark grey T-shirt and green V-neck sweater and walked to his study to send out a few owls before breakfast.

He and Hermione were going to spend the day together.

* * *

><p>She saw him sitting at the dining room table when she got downstairs, his back to her as he finished his meal. She stood in the hallway, unsure if she should join him like the usually would or sneak back upstairs until she was sure it was safe.<p>

"I'm not going to the Ministry today, so you may as well sit down," he called without turning around.

Bloody aurors and their bloody ability to see behind them.

Wiping what was surely a pout off of her face, Hermione entered the room and took the seat to Kingsley's left, murmuring her thanks as he poured her a cup of coffee without comment, his focus on that morning's _Daily Prophet_. She took a piece of toast from her plate and systematically pulled it apart while she tried to think of something to say. She glanced at Kinsley, but he wasn't paying attention to her. Instead, he turned the page of the newspaper and skimmed the text, the rustling of the paper the only sound in the large room.

This was worse than waking in his bed and finding him gone. It was worse than anything she imagined while she was getting dressed. He was the experienced one in manners such as this. Why the hell was he so damn quiet?

She pushed back from the table and jumped to her feet. "Are you really not going to say anything?" she shouted, her temper rearing.

He folded the paper in half and set it down. "Your morning after banter needs some work," he told her.

She glared at him. He smiled back innocently. She had an overwhelming urge to hex him. No, first she wanted to kiss him and then she wanted to hex him. God, the man drove her crazy! She turned to stomp out of the room, but his hand on her arm stopped her.

"Hermione."

She sighed and shook her head slowly. He watched the emotions play across her face. Anger. Frustration. Lust. Confusion. Maybe making a joke wasn't the right course of action. Tugging lightly on her arm, he pushed his own chair back and waited, relaxing only when she crawled into his lap, her back supported by his left arm, her legs dangling over the chair's armrest.

"I don't know what I'm doing, Kingsley, all right? I hate that," she told him, her words muffled because her head was buried in his chest. "I'm trying to figure it out, but ... it's not like there's a class for this, a book I can consult for the right answer."

He wrapped his arms around her waist, kissing the top of her head before leaning his cheek against her hair. "I apologize for teasing," he told her. "When I saw you left this morning, I thought perhaps last night was just one night for you and, frankly, that pissed me off."

"Sorry," she mumbled.

"Don't be sorry; talk to me," he replied, tucking a hand under her chin, forcing her to look him in the eye. "We're both adults who are attracted to each other. Yesterday we acted on it and, frankly, it was amazing. So amazing that it's difficult to have a conversation with you about it when all I want to do is take you back to bed. But I'm afraid if I do that, you'll disappear as soon as it's over and we'll continue this cycle of great sex and avoidance until one of us cracks. I don't know about you, but I feel there's enough stress in our lives that adding to it seems ridiculous."

She smiled. "I agree."

"Right. Then here's what I propose. We don't overthink this. I like you. You like me. I think you're incredible. You've called me amazing. Circumstances have us living together, so let's enjoy it."

She eyes him suspiciously. "You make it sound so easy."

"It is easy," he insisted.

"What happens when one of us wants to stop and we still have to share your home?"

He shifted in his chair, not liking the question. Honestly, he didn't see that happening on his side any time soon, but she was considerably younger than him. Perhaps her friendship with the Malfoy boy went beyond … No, he watched them at the ball. It was like watching Hermione with Harry or Ron; there were no romantic feelings on either side.

"Kingsley?" she asked.

"Sorry. Right. How about this? We continue as we are until one of us no longer wants to. If and when that happens, we agree to remain friends; no harm, no foul."

She agreed. "Sounds fair."

"I do have one more stipulation. No more sneaking out of bed."

She blushed slightly and nodded.

"So, we're OK?" he asked, needing clarification. "Do we need to do a wand oath or anything to seal the deal?"

She kissed him lightly on his lips. "Will that work?"

He smiled. "For now."

She kissed him again and moved back to her chair to finish breakfast, Walter practically bouncing over the fact that he had the kitchen to himself that morning. Kingsley decided to get Ministry obligations out of the way, conjuring their schedules to review next week's public appearances while she sipped her second cup of coffee.

"I'm not buying any more clothes," she grumbled.

"You shouldn't have to," he told her. "The Order of Merlin nominations will be made Tuesday morning; standard Ministry clothing for that."

"Is Harry on the list?" she interrupted.

He nodded. "Plus Remus and Snape," he replied, leaving off her name and Ron's. He still wasn't sure how she'd react to the honor and rather make it known in a public setting in case it wasn't favorable.

"The groundbreaking ceremony for the orphanage expansion on Thursday," he continued. "Again, ministry garb will work, though I'd avoid heels."

"If I don't wear heels, you'll tower over me more than you already do," she told him.

"Then wear them when I take you to bed if it makes you feel better. In fact, write that down so you don't forget. Make sure they're the red ones."

She rolled her eyes, though the image that popped in her mind at his words was intriguing.

"Finally, there's an Order meeting that night. That's it," he closed his folder with a snap and leaned back in his chair.

"I can deal with that."

"Me, too," he agreed, his eyes closed. She moved to get up and he opened one. "What are you doing today?"

"Mmm. Let's see," she tapped her finger against her lips, as if trying to remember something. "I gave considerable thought to doing nothing today. How about you?"

"Did you know when you're sarcastic there's an edge to it?"

She shrugged half-heartedly. "I apologize. Being cooped up does that to me, even in a place as grand as this."

"So if I were to suggest we go out and do something, you'd be amendable?"

Her eyes grew wide. "Are you kidding?! I'd love it!"

"OK, then, let's go," he pushed back his chair and stood up.

"Wait, where are we going?"

"I think avoiding Diagon Alley is best. Want to go hang out with the Muggles?"

"Really?" she squealed. Hermione was not a squealer by nature; that's how excited she was.

"Why not? You'll make sure we fit in."

Her mind was buzzing with ideas. They could visit a book store and maybe go to the movies. Oh, that pub George loves – they could go there for lunch. But first, she thought looking down at her jeans and Gryffindor T-shirt, she needed to change.

"Give me 15 minutes!" she yelled, running toward the stairs.

"What are we – do I need to change, too?"

"You look great as always," she shouted.

He smiled. He knew that, but it was nice to hear.


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: Is it weird how proud I am for looking up movies released in the winter of 1998 to find one Hermione would like to see? _You've Got Mail_ is a great choice. You've got book stores, which Hermione loves, romance, comedy and computers. Good luck explaining those to Kingsley!**

**I still don't own Harry Potter.**

* * *

><p>They apparated to Diagon Alley, ducked in to The Leaky Cauldron, and were in London seconds later, Hermione pushing Kingsley into the backseat of the first taxicab she spotted idling on the curb.<p>

"Where to, love?" the driver asked around a large wad of chewing gum.

She gave him the name of a movie theater and sat back to watch Kingsley experience his first cab. He was sitting stiffly, his hands pressed to his knees, eyes straight ahead.

"Do you get carsick?' she whispered, wondering if she should have the driver pull over and they could take the tube instead.

He didn't answer, but his body relaxed after a moment. He leaned down to kiss her cheek and whispered "All clear" in her ear. He'd informed her just before they left the manor that no one from their security detail would be joining them that day. Hermione was thrilled, but when she asked if that was a good idea – more for his safety than her own – he took it personally.

"Are you questioning my ability to protect you?" he asked in a tone that would have made Lucius Malfoy proud.

"No," she protested. "I just … you always have someone with you … no one knows where we …" She trailed off, not knowing what to say to dig herself out of the hole her mouth put her in. Luckily, it didn't look like he was going to hold a grudge.

Taking his hand, she scooted closer, resting her head on his shoulder, already loving their day together and it had barely begun.

* * *

><p>Kingsley studied the movie poster behind the glass display: <em>You've Got Mail<em>. There was a man with dark hair and a blond woman smiling, with a cartoon image of a half-circle box with a red flag attached to the movie title. His eyes narrowed as he wondered about it's purpose.

"It's a mailbox," Hermione said as she walked up to him, linking her arm through his and tugging him into the theater.

"What's a mailbox?" he whispered as they stood in the concession line, the smell of buttered popcorm making his mouth water.

"A mailbox how Muggles have their mail delivered; no owls."

Kingsley was confused. "We're going to watch a movie about two people and their mail? It sounds boring."

The 20-something man standing in front of them turned around. "I hear you, man," he told Kingsley, grunting when his girlfriend elbowed him in his stomach. Hermione giggled as they ordered their snacks, watching Kingsley as he looked around the theater. Most people would assume he was bored, killing time while waiting in line. She knew he was sweeping the area, noting entrances and exits, and cataloguing the people present. He stiffened if anyone got too close, especially behind them, so Hermione swung her large black purse over her shoulder, smiling apologetically at the man she accidentally hit. His glare was worth the two steps back he took to stay out of her range.

He carried their drinks while she toted their extra-large container of popcorn, searching for the ideal spot in the semi-darkened theater, noting several available seats in the back row, two along the aisle. Poking Kingsley to follow her, she slid into the second seat, set the popcorn on the floor and took one of the Cokes from Kingsley so he could get settled.

"Thank you," he murmured. He wouldn't have been able to relax with anyone sitting behind them, nor would he have been comfortable in the middle of a row. He loved that she understood that and didn't make a big deal about it.

Stretching his arm across the back of her chair, he pulled her into his side, reaching into the bucket of popcorn on her lap with the other. "You didn't answer my question. Why do I care about their mail? Are they spies? Are their letters encoded?"

She giggled. "This is a romantic-comedy."

He shook his head. He had no idea what that meant.

"It's a love story, but with funny parts. Oh, and they don't mail their letters. They write e-mails back and forth - electronic messages that travel through computers."

"Bloody hell," Kingsley murmured. He saw Muggles use computers when he was watching their Prime Minister. He didn't understand how they worked and given his assignment, no one bothered to explain them. Being Ravenclaw, that drove him crazy and gave him a headache.

"You'll like it," she promised.

He looked down at her. "And if I don't?"

"Name it," she replied with a sneaky smile as they lights dimmed.

Hermione debated taking Kingsley's wand from him before the movie started. He had some experience with Muggles televisions, having watched a few programs at Grimmauld Place with Harry and Ron, but this was his first time at a movie theater. She explained it was like a gigantic telly, but with surround sound, so that it seemed like everything was happening around you. He nodded like he understood, but she did have to throw her arm over him to keep him in his seat when the previews started.

"It's loud," he shouted over the music.

"Shh!" someone hissed from a few rows in front of them.

_Maybe this wasn't a good idea._

* * *

><p>"Explain it to me again."<p>

Hermione sighed, sidestepping a woman and her tiny dog on the crowded sidewalk. "An e-mail account is like an owlery that doesn't actually exist. People send you messages to your account, which you access by password. Your password is kept secret so only you get the messages."

"And it's instantaneous?"

She nodded.

"That is impressive," he murmured.

"There are a lot of Muggle inventions I think could be adapted to work in our world. Hopefully, as we rebuild, more will be receptive to the idea," she replied, taking advantage of the crowded corner to snuggle closer to him as they waited to cross the street. There was a chill in the air that signaled rain was coming. She felt his arm go around her and heard him murmur something, followed by a feeling of warmth similar to covering up with a blanket that had been warming by the fire.

"Thank you," she said quietly. Kingsley nodded, tucking her arm through his as they continued their way down the street. Both were full from their late morning gorging of popcorn and Coke, so she suggested they walk around a bit before stopping somewhere for a late lunch/early dinner. He rightly assumed walking around a bit was code for finding a bookstore and agreed. He was eager to see Hermione in her element. The last time he watched her shop in London, she was with Andromeda to buy a ball gown and wasn't nearly as animated as she was today.

He enjoyed the movie - more than he thought he would. He had to stop himself from asking too many questions, annoying those sitting around them and disturbing Hermione's obvious enjoyment of the film. The fact that the main characters worked with books didn't fail to register with him, making him wonder if her future would follow a similar path. Noting the smile that lit her face when she spotted Foyles, he resigned himself to spending the rest of their afternoon at the popular bookstore.

"You don't have to stay with me," she repeated nearly two hours later from her spot on the floor. She was perusing the lowest bookshelf in the ancient history section. The stack of books she already decided to purchase was next to her.

He shook his head at her statement and finished the coffee she bought him as an apology and a thank you after the first hour. While he knew the chances of her being attacked in a Muggle bookstore were minimal, it wasn't impossible. Shifting to find a more comfortable leaning position on the bookshelf behind him, he flipped to the next chapter of the book she handed him after a quick visit to the store's computer books: _E-Mail for Dummies_.

She was being cheeky, but it was actually interesting. He was going to make her buy it for him. If anything, it would be a fun reminder of the day.

"I think I'm ready," she announced almost an hour later.

He looked up from the chair he managed to snag near the reference section. She was standing in front of him, trying to peer over the pile of books in her arms, which were shaking from their combined weight.

"Hermione," he groaned, standing quickly to take them from her. "You need to learn how to ask for help. Honestly, it won't kill you."

She ignored him and grabbed her coat from the back of his chair, rolling her eyes when he set the books down to help her with it, though secretly loving how sweet and attentive he was. She watched him while she was looking at the books. He helped one woman reach a book on a high shelf, offered his chair to anyone near him who looked like she needed a place to sit, and spent an entertaining 20 minutes reading _Goldilocks and the Three Bears _out loud to a three-year-old while Hermione chose books for Teddy in the children's section.

"He's wonderful with children, isn't he?" the besotted mother had whispered to Hermione.

"He is," she agreed, laughing at the voice Kingsley used for Papa Bear.

"He'll be a great father," the woman told her before picking up her reluctant daughter.

Hermione thought about that as she sat in the cab on the way to the pub for dinner.

* * *

><p>"What now?" Kingsley asked as they exited the pub, pleasantly full from their makeshift dinner of appetizers and beer. He learned Hermione didn't have a tolerance for alcohol; she started laughing for no reason at all after her second drink, prompting him to switch her to water and order another round of the mac and cheese balls.<p>

"Hmm?" She wasn't paying attention. She was too busy looking up at the darkening sky, the cool air feeling good on her warm face. "Want to go for a walk? The Thames is that way."

Kingsley wasn't ready to go home, either, so he took her hand and let her lead him to the brick path along the river. She had ducked into the bathroom at the pub to shrink her two shopping bags of books so they fit comfortable in her oversized bag. They walked for a few minutes before Kingsley pulled her to one of the benches along the path.

"Are you feeling better?" he asked, pushing her hair back so he could study her face. Her eyes looked clearer.

She nodded, a little embarrassed. She never really had a reason to drink before; the only other time she drank was with with Harry, Ron, Ginny, and George after Fred's funeral. Of course the point of that event was to get drunk. She simply accomplished it faster than the others.

"There's actually something I've been meaning to do," Kingsley said, reaching into his coat pocket. "You know we've been setting the groundwork, so to speak, about our relationship with the public. The fact that you aren't returning to Hogwarts will raise some eyebrows. Hopefully seeing this on your finger at your events this week will be explanation enough," he continued, pulling out a small box, flipping open the lid.

Hermione stared at the ring - a deep purple amethyst, accented with black onyx and embellished with diamonds in a platinum band. She didn't know much about jewelry, but this was gorgeous and obviously an antique.

"It's been in my family for generations," Kingsley said, answering the questioning look on her face, taking it out of the box.

Hermione sat on her hands. "I can't wear that," she whispered.

"Fiancées have rings, Hermione."

"Fake fiancées do not wear family heirlooms," she hissed. "Let's go to a jewelry store tomorrow and get something less sentimental. I'm sure if we keep the receipt, you can get a refund when this is over."

"I'm a pureblood, Hermione. I may not be fanatic in blood beliefs, but my family line is long and this ring is part of it. My fiancée will be expected to wear it," he said, tugging her arm until he was able to grab her left hand and slide the ring on her finger. It magically shrunk to fit. He studied how it looked on her - perfect - and tried to think of something to say when Hermione came to his rescue.

"Your real fiancée is going to be mad when she learns she was the second person you gave this to," Hermione joked, wanting to lighten the mood. The ring looked too perfect on her finger. It felt perfect, too, yet for some reason she wanted to weep.

"My real fiancée sounds horrible," Kingsley grinned before his face turned serious. "If she can't understand why I'm doing this, she's not the witch for me."

Hermione leaned forward and kissed Kingsley lightly on the lips, her hand coming up to stroke his cheek. "Thank you ... for everything."

He opened his mouth to respond, but loud cheering and clapping interrupted him.

"Congratulations!" a man shouted from the small crowd gathered a few feet away. "She looked like she was going to say no for a bit."

Hermione blushed and buried her head in Kingsley's chest while he laughed. This was exactly the kind of scene he hoped to avoid, which is why he turned down Arthur's suggestion of making his "proposal" in a public setting. Correction - a public setting in their world. He found he quite liked the attention in the Muggle world.

"Thank you," he called, wrapping his arms around Hermione so he could pull her on to his lap.

"Kiss her!" the man shouted, making the others with him shout in agreement.

"Kiss! Kiss!"

Kingsley looked at Hermione, his eyes sparkling in amusement. "Well, love? Don't you think you owe me something?"

She smirked, grabbed his face in her hands and pulled his head to hers, covering his smile with a kiss that quickly switched from innocent to anything but. They ignored the catcalls as his tongue found hers, the urgency to be closer overriding the need for decorum.

"Hermione," he groaned as she shifted on his lap, his hands fisted on her back to keep from touching where he shouldn't. Yet. "I need you. Now."

She nodded, her face flushed as they stood, wished their audience farewell, and walked away to find the nearest cab.


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N: OK, they've shagged. Lots. They're an engaged couple to the public, friends in real life, with a bit of benefit action while waiting for Dolohov and Yaxley to make their move. Not a bad situation, wouldn't you say?**

**Thank you to all who have commented. Your words encourage me to keep going when writer's block rears its ugly head.**

* * *

><p>Kingsley straightened his tie and wished he didn't have to go to work. It wasn't a typical thought. Yes, there were aspects of his job he didn't like – the press, for example – but never had he opened his eyes in the morning and wanted more than anything to stay in bed for the rest of the day. Of course, it wasn't often he woke up with Hermione Granger pressing kisses all over him – she had an obsession with his tattoo – only to give him a look that spoke of promises before positioning herself above him and sliding down slowly until he was fully sheathed inside her.<p>

It was his now his favorite way to wake up.

He was able to talk her into joining him in the shower that morning. Actually, he didn't give her a choice, sweeping her into his arms and carting her to the bathroom, ignoring her squeals of protest when he stepped under the water that had yet to warm.

"You have a habit of picking me up and taking me where you want to go," she fumed as she flipped her drenched curls behind her shoulder, her eyes shooting daggers at him despite the drowned kitten look she was sporting. "It's annoying."

He ran his hands down her body and tried to care, but couldn't. Instead, he picked her up again; grunting in satisfaction when she locked wrapped her legs around his waist, locking her ankles at his back as he pressed her against the cool tile, lifting her higher so he could slide inside her once more. She braced her hands on his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin, as she helped him move her up and down his hard shaft as steam from the shower surrounded them.

He could feel her body reacting. He had spent most of Sunday inside her in one position or another to know she was close. His hands gripped her hips and he moved her faster, deeper. Her head fell back on a moan.

"I can't get enough of you," he confessed, running his tongue along her neck.

"I don't want you to," she admitted just as her breath hitched, followed by a long drawn-out sight of satisfaction. Kingsley followed seconds later, his lips finding hers on his final thrust.

* * *

><p>Hermione's legs were still trembling as she studied the clothes in her closet, searching for something to wear to Kingsley's Order of Merlin nomination ceremony. Neither one acknowledged that today would be her first appearance at the Ministry since Kingsley put his ring on her finger. Both Jamison and Cormon offered their congratulations the day before. Hermione winced as she remembered how their words had caused her to jump to a different conclusion. Kingsley covered her blunder by taking her left hand in his and kissing her knuckle just above the engagement ring. She blushed, but mumbled a quiet thank you as her cheeks flushed bright red.<p>

"Will you be making a formal announcement?" Jamison inquired, noting how the young witch paled at the thought of publicity. Her lack of interest in societal splendor endeared her to him. Most witches would want the Minister because of his power and the perks that came with that power; not her. He knew the Minister turned down invitations to several events that weekend in favor of two days at home. Judging by the content looks on both of their faces, it had been time well spent.

Kingsley shook his head. "I don't put my personal life to be put on display. If we're asked, we'll confirm our engagement, but that's all."

His voice was firm, but Hermione knew the matter wasn't settled. Kingsley could say "No comment" as much as he wanted, but the fact that the Minister for Magic was engaged to a member of the Golden Trio was going to spark a ton of interest and gossip.

Taking a black pencil skirt and crisp long-sleeved white top from her wardrobe, Hermione walked to the bathroom to get dressed. She tucked the shirt into her skirt and pulled her hair into a low ponytail. She used a light hand in her makeup and finished the ensemble with a pair of three-inch black heels. Drops of silver at her ears and Kingsley's ring were her only jewelry.

"You look beautiful," Kingsley said from the doorway.

She rolled her eyes, but the butterflies in her stomach settled when he placed his large hands on her shoulder, his eyes meeting hers in the mirror as he dropped a kiss on top of her head.

"Don't be nervous."

"I'm not nervous."

He smiled, but didn't contradict her as he took her hand and led her out of her rooms to the floo in his office.

* * *

><p>She lied. She was nervous. Today was important. This would be the first Order of Merlin nominees since Voldemort's death. The press had spent several weeks guessing as to who would be on the short list with Harry. The process wasn't as simple as Kingsley announcing the names. Each person would then be vetted, their public contributions and personal life thoroughly investigated by members of the Wizengamot before the final vote.<p>

"Expect two months of everyone knowing your business, mate," Ron said cheerfully, clapping Harry on the shoulder. The pair was sitting with Hermione in Kingsley's office, waiting for Kingsley's press conference to begin.

"What else is new?" Harry sighed.

Hermione hugged him. "Sorry, Harry. But you had to know you couldn't defeat Voldemort and not walk away with some kind of honor."

"I don't need the title," he grumbled. "Or the money that comes with it."

"So do something good with it," Hermione suggested. "Donate it to the orphanage. Start a scholarship fund at Hogwarts."

"Buy Gryffindor's Quidditch team new brooms! The best on the market!" Ron added.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Really, Ronald, there are more important things than Quidditch."

"I disagree," the redhead grinned.

* * *

><p>Kingsley walked to the podium. He cast a <em>Sonorus<em> charm to amplify his voice, his eyes catching Hermione's briefly before he spoke.

"Good morning. As you know, the Order of Merlin is an honor bestowed upon wizards and witches who have achieved great deeds. As we celebrate nearly six months of harmony after years of unrest, I can't think of a better time to recognize those who played a key role in achieving peace.

I want to emphasize that today's announcement should not be considered a new beginning. We've had so many new beginnings since Voldemort's defeat that I wonder if we will ever stop calling the events that follow beginnings and simply accept them as life. All of us were touched by the war. This was not a battle that played favorites. Each side, light and dark, experienced loss. Many of us still grieve. Some of us will grieve for the rest of our lives."

Kingsley took a moment to study the parchment in front of him. The crowd, despite the numbers, was silent. He didn't have to look at the Weasleys to know they were thinking of Fred. He knew Andromeda was holding Teddy and thinking of his parents. These families were hurting and would continue to hurt, but they couldn't give in to their grief. To do so would be a dishonor to their loved ones.

"Our world was in the dark for a long time. Too long. We will never forget those who made the ultimate sacrifice so that we may once again live in the light. We will never forget what was lost, but we need to remember to take a step back from our grief to appreciate what was gained. It is then that the battle is truly won."

Raucous applause followed Kingsley's words. He waited a moment for the crowd to quiet before beginning again.

"I'd like to nominate the following individuals for Order of Merlin in honor of their bravery, skill, character, sacrifice, strength, and courage. Every person in this room was touched by the nominees in one way or another. If not for them, the war could very well have ended differently, if it ended at all.

"Harry Potter."

Harry squeezed Hermione's hand before he stood and walked to the stage, not looking at the cameras that tracked his every step. Hermione wasn't surprised that Kingsley chose to announce Harry's name first. Everyone knew he'd be on the list. The Ministry could bestow the honor today. No one in the Wizengamot would vote against the Boy Who Lived.

"Neville Longbottom."

There was a gasp of surprise; most likely from Neville as he stood by his grandmothers chair, feet rooted in place. It took several pokes from her and others around them before he shuffled to the stage, his dark eyes wide against his pale face.

"My next two nominees are no longer with us, but I believe once you hear the names, you'll know why they deserve to be included: Remus Lupin and Severus Snape."

Again, another gasp. It wasn't a sound of surprise, but dispute. Kingsley knew he'd have a battle on his hands to make sure the two men received the accolades they deserved. It was a fight he was ready to assume.

"The last nominees I'll announce together even though their names are often said with a third: Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley."

Hermione couldn't move. For once, Ron was struck speechless, too. They saw the flashes from the cameras, heard Molly Weasley tell them to move forward, her voice breaking with tears of pride. Ron came back to the present first, taking Hermione's hand in his and walking to the stage, his strength pulling her along.

The image of Harry embracing his two friends was a picture the press had lusted after for months and now they had it. The Golden Trio was together again.

* * *

><p>"Congratulations, Miss Granger."<p>

Hermione turned at the sound of Lucius Malfoy's voice. His words were polite though his tone was dripping with scorn.

"Mr. Malfoy. I'm surprised you deemed an affair dedicated to the downfall of your Dark Lord suitable for your presence."

Cool eyes narrowed slightly. "Now, Miss Granger, I thought we agreed to play nice. After all, I do have something you want."

Hermione clenched her teeth to stop herself from replying. She noted the pureblood's smirk of satisfaction before he titled his head slightly to the back exit. She watched him glide across the room, waiting several minutes before following.

"My absence will be noticed soon," she told him.

He looked over her shoulder to the crowded atrium, noting the Minister was too busy talking to the press to notice Miss Granger's absence. Still, it would not be wise to be spotted with the young witch; he had his fill of Azkaban.

"I'll be brief. I consulted some texts and I think I've found the ritual I assume Dolohov and Yaxley plan to use to resurrect the Dark Lord."

"Is it a blood ritual?"

"The first step."

"I assume the final step is my death."

Lucius nodded.

"Do we have a timeline?"

"That is something I need to research more. Obviously the ritual needs to take place on a specific date, but I'm uncertain if it is the day Voldemort fell or the day you dueled with Dolohov."

"So either May 2 or June 18."

Lucius nodded again, careful to mask his surprise at how calmly Miss Granger was taking the news. He had essentially told her she'd be dead in six months time and her reaction was no different than two people discussing the weather.

"Do you have the ritual with you?"

He shook his head. "It is in an old book; one I no longer have access to. Even if I did, it was not written so Muggle-borns could handle the tome."

Hermione struggled to remain calm, though she was seething on the inside. Would she ever be allowed to just live or life or was she destined to constantly be on the brink of death? Taking a deep breath, she focused on what she knew. It wasn't much, but the information provided by Lucius was more than what she had before. The lack of specifics was frustrating, but it was only January. They wouldn't be so bold to attempt to capture her early. They didn't have the resources to keep her hidden away for long. That meant she had time to come up with a plan. She knew she would face Dolohov and Yaxley; it was only a question of when. Their end game had a small window of opportunity. They would not let it pass. Her goal was just as simple: don't let the ritual be successful.

"Thank you, Mr. Malfoy," she said automatically, her mind elsewhere as she held out her hand. Lucius stared at it in surprise, for just a moment, before he lifted it to his lips.

"My pleasure, Miss Granger. If I learn more, I'll find a way to let you know."

* * *

><p>"Are you upset?"<p>

Hermione looked up from her book on dark magic, though the spell she cast earlier made it look like she was reading an arithmancy text. Kingsley was standing in the doorway to her bedroom, his expression cautious as he stepped inside.

"What time is it?"

"Nearly midnight," he replied, sitting on the edge of her bed. This was the first chance he had to speak with her, one-on-one, since that morning. She had survived the press conference relatively unscathed, though he noticed how she kept her left hand concealed for most of the morning, either by holding Harry or Ron's hand, or resting her right hand over it. She also kept her distance from him. Whereas they usually stood together at Ministry affairs, she remained with her classmates, the Weasleys or Andromeda. "Are you upset?" he repeated.

She sighed, but shook her head. She was pleased Kingsley nominated Ron for such a prestigious honor. Of the three of them, Order of Merlin would mean more to him than it ever would to her or Harry. At the same time, she understood there was no way he could nominate Harry and Ron, and not her. They were a team. She wouldn't begrudge her friends' happiness for her own selfish reasons. Still, she wasn't ready to let Kingsley completely off the hook.

"A warning would have been nice," she told him.

"I know you," he replied. "If I had given you any clue that your name was amongst the others, you would have found a way to not be there today."

"Am I really that transparent?"

He snorted at the question. "Transparent is never a word I'd use to describe you," he replied, taking the book out of her hands and setting it on the nightstand. He leaned forward to kiss her. "Gorgeous is a word I'd use," he said before kissing her again, leaning forward to press his body to hers. "Brilliant. Stubborn. Talented. Energetic. Sexy."

"Stop talking," she murmured against his lips as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

"And bossy," he laughed. "Luckily, it works for me."


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N: Meldz wanted to know how I see Kingsley. No offense to the actor from the movies, but the Kingsley in my mind looks more like Shemar Moore (Derek Morgan on Criminal Minds). You are welcome to borrow that visual as you read the story.**

**Another question – why is Hermione so calm? That's my fault, as I tend to focus on the romance more than the other stuff happening. That ends now.**

* * *

><p>"You look … rested."<p>

Hermione chose to ignore George's comment, pushing past the smirking redhead to walk through the narrow hallway of Grimmauld Place on her way to the kitchen. She wasn't surprised to see Molly standing at the stove, peeking inside an oversized pot while two loaves of freshly-baked bread cooled on the table.

"You can't stop feeding us, can you?"

Molly laughed, letting the lid fall with a clatter as she rushed to hug Hermione, giving her a squeeze that immediately made her feel like a child. It was a comforting feeling, though. Molly Weasley was a mother through and through. If she deemed you one of her own, you accepted the honor and were grateful for it.

"I've missed you," Molly said as she tugged Hermione to the table. Gesturing for her to sit, she quickly prepared two cups of tea and sat across from her. "How are you? You look safe and well, thank goodness, but are you all right? Because if you're not, tell me and we'll come up with a new plan. I'll take on Kingsley if I need to."

Hermione laughed. "I'm fine. I'm a little bored. I never thought I'd miss having Harry and Ron underfoot, but I do. It's quiet at the manor. I have too much time to think. Professor McGonagall is sent the materials I need to revise for my N.E.W.T.s, so that's a welcome distraction."

"Are you often alone?" Molly looked worried.

"The opposite. Cormon is my shadow. If he's not with me, Kingsley is."

Molly's eagle-eyes took in Hermione's appearance as she talked. She looked better rested than the last time she saw her. The dark circles that shadowed her eyes for too long were gone, so either she was sleeping well or was better at glamour charms than she used to be. She looked like she'd put on some weight, too - in a good way.

"What?" Hermione asked, shifting uncomfortably on the bench. She didn't like the way Molly was studying her. It was like she knew something. Her mother used to do that, too.

Molly smiled. "You look well. I'm glad."

Hermione considered Molly's statement and her smile that accompanied it. She knew she was in a healthier place now than she was a few months ago. Her nightmares weren't as frequent and if memories did pull her from sleep, Kingsley was there with words of comfort; his strong arms making her feel safe.

She was beginning to rely on him too much. What started as an urge to satisfy a physical need was evolving into … she didn't know what it was evolving into, and that scared her. She didn't want to have feelings for Kingsley, at least feelings that went beyond the boundaries they set for themselves. He was her friend. He was keeping her safe. That's all it was and all it could be. What they had wasn't permanent. They only had a few more months together, if that. If she managed to cheat death once more, she didn't want Kingsley to feel beholden to her. And if she didn't … Hermione smiled at Molly, not wanting to dwell on what could go wrong. If tonight went as she expected, her feelings for Kingsley would no longer be a problem.

* * *

><p>She was up to something. He watched her from the opposite end of the table, her head bent close to George as they conversed. Either they were whispering or one of them had cast a spell so they wouldn't be heard.<p>

Clearing his throat, Kingsley put down his fork and addressed the small group sitting around the table: Arthur and Molly Weasley; Professor McGonagall; George; and Hermione.

"It's been two months since Hermione was attacked in Diagon Alley. I know all of you are anxious for this situation to be rectified, but the information we have not yet to be verified." His eyes settled on Hermione. She was watching him carefully, as if she was trying to find meaning behind his words. She was doing that more often. They'd talk and she'd listen, but her focus wasn't completely on the conversation at hand.

"If you are frustrated with the lack of action," he continued, "be angry with me."

"What if we forced their hand?"

Molly gasped at George's suggestion. Kingsley narrowed his eyes, noting how he refused to make eye contact. This wasn't his idea. It was hers.

"How would we do that?" Professor McGonagall asked.

"Bait," Hermione replied. "They want me. That's what we know. So let's stop waiting around for the snatch-and-grab and control the situation."

"No."

Hermione continued like she didn't hear Kingsley's protest.

"I've studied resuscitation spells. We all know these require blood, which they have, only it's not sufficient. I assume they took just enough to test the validity of the spell on December 31 – Voldemort's birthday. I also assume that since no attempts have been made on my life since then that whatever they did work and they are preparing for the next step."

"Where did you -" Arthur started.

"Research," Hermione replied curtly.

"How -" Professor McGonagall continued.

"I've had some free time," she said wryly.

"You haven't had access to the information you're talking about," Kingsley said in a cool voice. "Who have you been talking to?"

She didn't respond. Instead, she pushed back from the table, drawing herself to her full height as she stood on the opposite end, staring him down as she continued.

"I do not have a link to Voldemort. However, I do have one to Dolohov. He cursed me at the Department of Mysteries. It was a non-verbal spell, one we were never able to identify. Voldemort also revealed himself that night. It's not the strongest link, but we're talking about two desperate men who have nothing to lose. They're convinced it's enough to do what they hope to accomplish: bring Voldemort back to life."

Arthur cleared his throat. "We've done some research into blood rites, but we've found nothing that matches what you've described."

"Why would you?" Hermione replied, her tone softer as she addressed the man she loved like a father. "The Ministry doesn't have extensive access to Dark Magic, nothing on par with what Death Eaters consider common knowledge. We're not operating blind, but we are at a disadvantage. That's why I think the best course of action would be to do exactly what they wouldn't expect and put me in a position where they can make their move."

Kingsley leaned forward, resting his fisted hands on the table in an attempt to control his emotions. He wanted to throttle her. He wanted to leap across the table and shake her senseless for even suggesting she put herself in harm's way.

"Blood spells are circular in that they complete the link between the people involved. Dolohov and Yaxley don' think of Voldemort as dead, but simply gone; much like what happened to him when Harry was a baby. My blood, my magic, fills the gap. The only question is when. Is their spelled tied to the night Dolohov cursed me or Voldemort's death? We have two possible dates: May 2 or June 18. Not knowing the actual date hurts us, but it's only February. We have time to do the research and verify our findings. For once, time is on our side."

Everyone sitting around the table was quiet.

"Have you considered the fact that the time factor plays in their favor, too?"

Hermione studied Kingsley. His face was passive, as was his tone.

"I don't understand."

"Obviously," he replied.

"Kingsley," Minerva broke in. "Now isn't the time -"

He cut her off with a look. "Hermione, when you fought the Death Eaters before, it was different. They were rushed. Voldemort was rushed. There was too much happening at once. Your victories, your escapes – you are a skilled witch, but also a lucky one. You don't have that this time. Dolohov and Yaxley have nothing but time. They're planning and they will be meticulous. You won't be able to take them on your own; not this time."

She narrowed her eyes. "What aren't you telling me?"

He didn't answer.

She looked around the table, studying each person in turn. Arthur looked guilty. Professor McGonagall's face was thoughtful. Molly's was concerned. She studied George. He avoided her gaze and shifted uncomfortably on the bench. She turned back to Kingsley.

"You already knew this, didn't you?" she asked in a quiet voice. Only George could see her hands slowly fisting, her fingernails cutting into the skin in her palms. He casually slid down the bench, closer to Professor McGonagall. Kingsley didn't deny her query, but he didn't answer it, either. Instead, he addressed the others at the table.

"I suggest we take a break," he said. His voice was calm though it didn't fool Hermione for a moment. "Hermione, if I could speak to you privately?"

She shook her head. "No."

"Hermione, this is not the place."

"No! I've gone along with everything you people have told me to do for months without question. You're keeping something from me and I want to know what it is."

"Kingsley, maybe we should -"

"Not now, Minerva," he interrupted, rounding the table to grasp Hermione's arm, pulling her from the kitchen, ignoring the voices the followed their departure. He kept his grip tight, almost painfully so, as he marched up the stairs.

"Which room was yours?"

"Third door on the right."

He gave no indication he heard her, but opened the door she identified, pushing her inside before slamming it close. He took out his wand to put up wards and a silencing charm, and then threw it across the room. His hand was still tight on her arm when he spun her around to take the wand from her pocket and toss it aside, too.

"What are you -"

Her words were cut off by a bruising kiss as he pushed her against the door, his large body pressed against hers. Sliding his hands down her arms, he gripped her wrists and moved her hands over her head, shifting to hold both of her wrists in one hand. The other he used to grip her chin, forcing her to look at him when he abruptly ended the kiss.

"Let me go."

"You want to sacrifice yourself."

"I said 'Let me go.'"

"No. You're not going anywhere until I know you're not to do anything reckless and stupid."

"I wouldn't have to consider being reckless and stupid if you would tell me what's going on! This is my life on the line; not yours!"

"It's everybody's!" he roared, pushing away from her. "Do you know what will happen if Voldemort comes back? It's over! We won't survive a third war. We barely survived the second!"

"If you knew this, why didn't you tell me? Why claim not to know anything?" she shouted. No sooner had the words left her mouth when she clapped a hand over her lips.

He knew. The Order knew. They knew what Dolohov and Yaxley hoped to do. Even worse, they believed it. They, too, thought she was the link to resurrecting Voldemort.

Her life for his.

She slid to the floor as her mind scrambled to comprehend. The report from the aurors. The plan to put her under Kingsley's protection. Cormon agreeing to accompany her to Diagon Alley. The ball and her meeting with Malfoy. Her second meeting with him at the Ministry. All of it was orchestrated by Kingsley.

"How long?" she hissed. "How long have you been using me?"

He sat on what was once her bed. "I'm not using you. We told you I would keep you safe. I never lied about that."

"Only everything else."

He pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers. "It's not that simple. When we learned you were a target, the immediate question was why. It didn't take long to make the connection between you and Dolohov. We considered letting you stay at Hogwarts with a guard, but the school wasn't secure."

"Why the charade? You could have easily tucked me away in some safe house."

"As long as you're alive, as long as Dolohov is alive, there's a chance Voldemort could come back. We're not sure if the spell will work, but it's not a risk we're willing to risk. We needed you safe, but also accessible. My schedule allowed for both."

Hermione shook her head, ignoring the tears the pricked her eyes. "The attack in Diagon Alley?"

"We saw Yaxley, We couldn't capture him and risk losing our only connection to Dolohov."

"I was hurt. _Cormon_ was hurt," she whispered, one tear rolling down her cheek.

"I know. I'm sorry. We needed to know what they wanted. The taking of your blood … it confirmed our suspicions."

"Lucius Malfoy?"

"Lucius is in a precarious situation. He's lost all clout with the Ministry and the remaining Death Eaters. He's desperate to restore the Malfoy name. Your friendship with Draco … I was able to parlay that into getting information from him, some of which he then passed to you."

"Why?"

"Because you're Hermione Granger. You weren't going to sit back and wait for someone to rescue you, not when you can rescue yourself. I instructed Lucius to tell you just enough to keep you occupied."

Hermione shook her head, not wanting to hear anymore. Was this how Harry felt when he learned he was a horcrux? That Professor Dumbledore planned and schemed and plotted to keep him alive only so he could die at the right time?

"Why bother?" she asked in a cold voice. "Kill me, you end the link."

Kingsley was off the bed, kneeling in front of her before she finished speaking. He cupped her face in his hands. His eyes flashed with anger, but his thumbs were gentle as he wiped away her tears. "Don't talk like that. Ever. Everything we've done, everything I've done, is to keep you alive."

She scoffed, pulling out of his hold. "You'll understand if I find that difficult to believe. You've been lying to me for months."

He leaned back slightly. "I could say the same thing about you. You never told me about your meetings with Lucius."

Her eyes flashed. "Stop it."

"I don't think I will."

"You're not the injured party, Kingsley. You kept information from me."

"You kept information from me."

"To protect you! I'm not going to let Voldemort come back! I won't do that to Harry or Ron. I won't do that to you!"

"And you think ending your life wouldn't hurt me? That losing you wouldn't kill Harry and Ron? Think, Hermione." He got to his feet. "I'm sorry for letting you believe we were unaware of the spell, the ritual. We were concerned that telling you too much would lead to this moment. You were willing to let yourself be killed for Harry once. I knew you wouldn't hesitate to put yourself in that position again."

He paced around the room, trying to find the words to wipe the injured expression from her face. He wanted her angry. He could deal with anger. Everyone said she'd be furious. No one said she'd be hurt.

"Perhaps there was a better way to go about this, but I did what I could with the information I had. I knew you'd figure it out eventually. I just hoped it would be later."

"Why?"

"It's like you said – we don't know the date they're focused on. Until we do, we're in limbo. I didn't want you to spend the next few months worrying."

"You mean you don't want to spend the next few months worrying," she replied. "That's what this is about, right? You're in charge, everyone follows your orders, and all is well. I don't care what your intentions were. I'm not a child. I haven't been a child for years. I had every right to know what you know as soon as you learned it! Keeping me in the dark wasn't the right thing to do."

"When it comes to your safety, right and wrong doesn't exist," he said stubbornly.

She looked up at him. For a moment, he looked contrite, but then his political face was back, the look he adopted when he didn't want anyone to know what he was thinking. He was closed off to her. She knew there was a chance that would happen after she revealed what she knew. Never did she consider that he could be so duplicitous.

She dropped her gaze to the floor, unable and unwilling to look at him. "Was sleeping with me another ploy to keep me occupied?"

She didn't see the wounded look on his face. "Would you believe me if I said no?"

She shook her head. He watched her for a moment. She didn't look at him. Sighing, he walked across the room for his wand and left without saying a word.


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N: "How am I going to write my way out of this?" That was my thought when I finished chapter 24. So I stepped away from the story, wrapped Christmas presents, went for a long run, and watched cheesy romantic comedies. Then my muse ended her silent treatment.**

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><p>George Weasley knew he was out of the loop and, for the most part, he was OK with it. The last year of trying to live without his twin - his brother, his best friend, his other half! – was torture. There were days it was a struggle just to get out of bed and days he'd realize he hadn't thought of Fred once. The guilt was crippling.<p>

He tried to put on a happy face for his family. He had to. They were hurting, too. His parents lost a child. His brothers and sister lost a sibling. Hermione was the only one he was comfortable dropping the pretense around. She let him cry and didn't tell him things would get better. She let him rage and didn't point to all the others who lost loved ones, too. They got drunk the night of Fred's funeral – him, Hermione, Harry, Ron, and Ginny. It numbed the pain, so George spent the next few weeks inebriated. Hermione covered for him, replacing empty bottles with full ones, playing the sympathetic friend to his ramblings, giving him Sober Up potion when necessary, and cleaning up more vomit than he cared to remember. After he decided an alcohol-induced daze was not how he wanted to spend the rest of his life, she dragged him on a long walk, the fresh air and sunshine working better than any potion could.

"It turns out drinking doesn't make everything better," he remembered telling her.

"I know."

"So why'd you let me?"

She took his hand in hers. "You needed an escape. I wasn't going to let you go out too far before dragging you back."

Looking back, he relied on her more than he probably should have. He lost Fred; she lost her parents. When he pointed that out one afternoon, she said they were still alive, they just didn't know who she was anymore.

"But still -"

"But nothing. You can't get rid of me that easily, George Weasley. Now, if you ever want to get your store running again, we need to get through this inventory. Point me somewhere safe because I refuse to walk out of here with green hair again."

When it first came to the Order's attention that the remaining Death Eaters wanted Hermione, George was suffering a relapse. After several weeks of sleeping well, eating regularly and working at the store, he caught his reflection in the window of a café in Diagon Alley and, for a brief moment, thought it was Fred. He fell to the street sobbing. When he finally stopped, he was in his old room at the Burrow, his mother sitting at a chair by his side, her careful smile worrying him more than if she had been crying.

Three days had passed. He didn't remember who saw him or how he got home. By the time he felt well enough to leave his room, Ron's crazy scheme to keep Hermione safe was already in motion. He had a good chuckle imagining Hermione playing nice at Ministry functions. She was pants at lying and her tolerance for self-important people was non-existent. Then he saw Kingsley kiss Hermione. He saw the witch who was never caught off guard astonished. He wasn't surprised when she admitted to wanting Kingsley physically, that he was the wizard she wanted to lose her virginity to. They drank their tea and they plotted. She told him she was ready to get it over with and she'd rather do it with a man who knew what he was doing. He nodded and wished her well, but he knew there was more to it than that. Hermione Granger was not the type of woman who slept around. She couldn't be physical with someone unless her emotions were at play, too.

"Fucking Kingsley," he muttered under his breath.

"What's that, dear?" his mother asked.

"I said 'Fucking Kingsley,'" he repeated angrily.

"George," his father said in a warning tone.

"No, Dad. Who the hell is he to keep something like this from Hermione? Why would you even go along with it? This is Hermione we're talking about. Hermione! Even if she didn't have Lucius Malfoy feeding her the information Kingsley deemed was safe, she still would have figured it out on her own. That's what she does! And now she finds out that all of you, people she trusts and thinks of like family, have been conspiring against her!"

"Mr. Weasley, I understand you're upset -"

"I'm not 'upset,' Professor," George glared at Professor McGonagall. "I'm fucking pissed! I'm angry this happened and I'm angry I wasn't aware it happened until it was too late!"

He stormed out of the kitchen, wishing briefly the swinging door could be slammed shut. He settled for stomping down the hall as loud as he could and didn't stop when he reached the stairs, passing a defeated-looking Kingsley leaving Hermione's old bedroom.

"You might want to give her a moment," the older wizard said, straightening his stooped shoulders, his face changing from hurt to impassive the second he caught George's eye.

"I've given her too many," George replied. "Maybe if I'd been paying better attention, this shit storm wouldn't have happened. Now, if you'll excuse me."

He pushed past the wizard and knocked on the closed door. He waited for her to shout "Go away" or threaten to hex someone. The silence that answered his knock worried him.

"Hermione?" he asked, opening the door slowly to peek inside.

There was no response. No incantation. No burst of light. Still wary, George opened the door further, his eyes falling on the girl curled in a ball on the bed.

"Oh, Hermione," he sighed. He walked inside, shut the door, and crossed the room to get on the bed with her, curling up to her back, one arm snaking around her waist to pull her to him. She was stiff in his arms. "Hermione, I didn't know. I mean, I knew, but not until tonight. I heard Mum and Dad talking. That's why I came. I wanted to say something, but I didn't know how."

"Do you ever think of running away?"

He stopped talking. He ran away once. With Fred. They were five and wanted to escape punishment after _accidentally _turning Ron's teddy bear into a spider. Neither twin had ever seen their Mum's face so red and Ron wouldn't stop crying. But they didn't make it further than the orchard before their Dad caught up with them. He had several cookies in his hand, which he said he would share if they'd return home.

Mum's cookies were amazing.

"Are you asking me to run away with you?" he joked. "Perhaps escape to some tropical island where you can fan me with palm leaves like the God I am?"

She didn't laugh like he expected. Instead, she sighed, moving one of her hands so it clasped his. "I just … I'm so tired," she whispered. "How long are we expected to fight, George? I thought things were getting better. Not back to normal, that doesn't exists anymore, but better and then he had to go and ruin it."

George swallowed. He didn't agree with Kingsley's actions, nor his parents or the other Order members, but the finality in Hermione's voice scared him. "I don't think he intended to be malicious," he spoke cautiously. "He was … he's Kingsley, sweetheart. He sees it his job to keep people safe. He stupidly thought this was the best way to do it."

She sniffed again. "Your parents."

"They lost Fred. Grief makes you do things you never thought you would. They didn't want to lose another child."

"Professor McGonagall. Hagrid. Professor Flitwick. Harry. Ron."

"I can't speak for the first three, but Harry and Ron are just in the dark as you are. Or were."

She turned in his arms, rolling over to face him. "You didn't know?"

He held up a hand. "Not until tonight. I swear it."

She scooted closer until she was pressed to George's side, her head resting on his chest. "I was beginning to fall for him," she confessed in a quiet voice. "I know it's fast, but there were times when we were together and I'd get this feeling, like everything that happened was to bring me to that very moment, with him."

"So he's a good shag then?"

Her reply was more of a sob than a chuckle, but at least it was something. "He made me feel beautiful."

"You are beautiful."

She slowly shook her head. "He made me feel wanted and desired and now … Now I feel like a fool. Of course he knew about the spell. I'm so stupid."

"You're not stupid."

"I'm not smart. We're talking about the fucking Minister for Magic and a Hogwarts dropout. Why I ever thought I had one up on him -"

"First of all, you are not a Hogwarts dropout! You'll take your N.E.W.T.s in a few months, kick everyone's ass, and graduate with every honor that school has. They'll have to create new ones just to celebrate your brilliance. Second, as a true Hogwarts dropout, I can tell you that graduation is overrated."

"You are such a contradiction, George Weasley."

"That's why you love me, Hermione Granger."

"Do you want to pretend to be engaged to me?"

"More than anything," he replied, kissing the top of her head. "Unfortunately, I don't have the means to keep you safe."

She looked up at him, unshed tears swimming in her eyes. "I don't think I can keep doing this. I feel so stupid. I don't want to have to look at him ever again."

"So hex him. You'll feel better."

She laid her head down again. "I'm tired," she mumbled. "I want to sleep. I want to sleep until all of this goes away and then I want to go away. Far, far away where I'll never have to see Kingsley Shacklebolt again." Her voice got lower as she spoke, her last words spoken on a sigh before exhaustion took over.

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><p>She woke around 1 a.m. in her bed at the manor. Fumbling for her wand, she bathed the room in light, relieved when she looked down to see she was still wearing the fitted black cotton pants and oversized red-checked flannel shirt she donned for dinner at Grimmauld Place. Pushing the covers off of her, she walked to the bathroom to change into proper sleeping clothes, trying not to focus on the fact that this was the first night she'd slept alone in weeks. If Kingsley had been in bed beside her, she would have hexed him despite what she told George.<p>

She wasn't lying when she said she was tired. She knew Voldemort's death didn't give her an automatic happy ending, but was it naïve to think life would get a little easier once he was gone? All she wanted to do was finish her education like she knew her parents wanted her to. Couldn't she at least have that? No. Instead, she had to be on the receiving end of yet another death threat only to learn that the people who claimed to care for her were plotting and planning behind her back like she was some helpless first year. Did they not remember what she did her first year at Hogwarts? Who kept Harry and Ron from being strangled to death by devil's snare? Who figured out Snape's potions? She was the so-called brightest witch of her age! She did not need anyone to rescue her. She could damn well take care of herself!

She didn't want to die. She was in total support of any plan that stopped Dolohov and Yaxley without dying, but she was prepared to die if that's what it took to keep Harry and everyone else safe. She wondered briefly how her intentions were discovered. She hadn't told anyone, though she remembered thinking it when Lucius spoke to her on New Year's Eve …

Lucius. He must have seen something on her face during their conversation. Or perhaps he invaded her thoughts. She knew Professor Snape was a skilled Legillimens. Who's to say his closest friend wasn't, too?

Shuffling out of the bathroom in one of Harry's old Quidditch jerseys, Hermione crawled back into bed, wanting nothing more than to turn off her brain, at least for tonight. She'd have time to plan, to think, tomorrow.

She fell asleep in minutes, not realizing that this was the first night in a long time a nightmare hadn't yanked her from sleep, nor kept her awake for hours.

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><p>Kinglsey stood in Hogwarts' Great Hall, trying not to think about the last time he was there, how he and Hermione had raced to the Head Table in order to be the first in Professor McGonagall's chair. She'd be so sad that night, her eyes so full of grief that the look of exasperation she gave him when he claimed the chair ignited a need in him to do whatever he could to keep the sadness from her eyes.<p>

_Failed there, didn't you?_

More than a month had passed since the dreadful Order gathering and Hermione was no closer to speaking to him than she was that night. Oh, she kept up appearances in public. If anything, she played her role better now than she had. She attended the functions she had to, smiled for the cameras, and answered the questions she knew she couldn't ignore. In a short time, she morphed herself into the ideal political spouse.

He hated it.

"Everything looks like it's moving along," Kingsley said to Professor McGonagall as they turned to walk back to her office.

"Not as quickly as we'd like, but progress is progress, even if it's slow going. We're grateful the ministry agreed to house this year's N.E.W.T.s; we have a much larger class than usual, given the number of students repeating their seventh year."

Kingsley nodded, not really listening. His monthly visits to Hogwarts were usually entertaining. He checked on the renovation process, then joined his former professors for lunch in the Great Hall, sitting at the Head Table like he told Hermione he always wanted to do. She accompanied him on several of these visits, sitting in on classes and dining with her friends. They never failed to make her smile, the energy of the visit resulting in a happy Hermione for days.

He didn't ask if she wanted to come today. Instead, he informed her they were going. She'd spent the past two weeks in the manor, either revising for exams or working on self-defense moves with Cormon. She took her meals in her room most nights and made feeble excuses when he tried to engage her in conversation. He missed the witch who had yelled at him, who had told him to enjoy his empty bed when he turned away from her. He never thought he'd prefer a curse over the silent treatment, but the fact of the matter was he didn't know how to cope with a sullen Hermione Granger. He wanted the lioness,_ his_ lioness, back.

"I'm sorry Miss Granger wasn't up to joining us for lunch," Professor McGonagall sad.

Kingsley nodded. "She had a headache before we left. I was worried the trip might be too much, but she's a stubborn girl."

"Well, hopefully resting in my office helps," the headmistress said in a doubtful tone.

"I'm sure it will."

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><p>Hermione sat in the armchair, waiting for Kingsley to return so they could leave Hogwarts and she could return to the sanctity of her bedroom at the Minister's Manor. She considered, briefly, joining Ginny, Draco and the others for lunch, but they would know immediately that something was bothering her and she wasn't in the mood for that conversation. She wasn't in the mood for any conversations. She just wanted to be left alone.<p>

Sighing, Hermione sank deeper into the cushions. How much longer was this visit going to last?

"Would you stop that insufferable sighing?"

Hermione sat up. "Excuse me?"

"I don't think I will, Miss Granger."

Hermione knew that voice. Hermione feared that voice. Before she came face-to-face with Bellatrix Lestrange, any nightmare Hermione had featured that voce.

"Professor Snape?" she whispered, peering up at his portrait near Professor McGonagall's desk.

"Miss Granger," the man replied in his sardonic tone.

"What are you … I mean, how are you?"

"I'm a painting, Miss Granger. How do you think I am?"

"Yes, I know, sir. I just meant … you've never spoken to me before."

Snape raised an eyebrow, the haughty gesture mocking her observation skills. Even in oil, he was a snarky man. "I see you are as astute as ever, Miss Granger."

"Why now?" she asked, not caring that she sounded like a petulant child. She was already having a crap day. She didn't need the pictorial image of the man who made her life at Hogwarts hell to make it worse.

"Why, Miss Granger? I was under the impression the war already had a martyr. Why are you trying to take my title?"


	26. Chapter 26

**A/N: Some of you won't like this chapter. You want Hermione to hurt Kingsley. Bear with me. The end game is near and, hopefully, all of this will make sense. **

**I still don't own Harry Potter.**

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><p>Hermione stared at the large oil painting behind Professor McGonagall's desk, unsure how she should answer Professor Snape's question.<p>

"Speechless, Miss Granger? I never thought I'd see the day."

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "I beg your pardon, sir, but I resent your implication."

"I didn't imply, Miss Granger. I strongly suggested."

"Fine," she huffed impatiently. "But it isn't true."

He raised an eyebrow yet again, the ghost of his trademark smirk on his face. "Enlighten me, then. You're at Hogwarts, as are many of your friends, yet instead of spending time with them, you've locked yourself in the headmistresses' office to pout about circumstances you have the power to fix."

"I wasn't feeling well."

"Gryffindors are terrible liars, Miss Granger."

She rolled her eyes, as frustrated with the portrait as she had been with the man. "With all due respect, sir, you don't know what I'm going through."

"Don't I?" he scoffed. "Miss Granger, I was here when Minerva first explained Mr. Weasley's harebrained scheme. I also was here when Kingsley met with her to discuss what information they would keep from you. I also had to witness Minerva's breakdown after you discovered their ruse. While I didn't get to witness that firsthand, thank Merlin, I assume you stomped out as you are apt to do."

She sat back in the chair and crossed her arms. "I didn't stomp out, I was dragged out. By Kingsley."

Snape relaxed in his chair. "Ah, yes; our esteem Minister for Magic. Did you know, Miss Granger, that I was not the war's only spy?"

"I assumed there were several."

"Yes, but only two who played both sides in the middle: myself and Kingsley. While I was forced to do the bidding of a certified madman and an absent-minded fool, he had to follow the orders of said fool and a politician who didn't know which end was up."

Hermione wasn't overly impressed. Cornelius Fudge may be an idiot, but she was fairly certain he never used an Unforgivable on Kingsley.

"I'm not telling you this to garner sympathy for your 'fiancé.'"

"Then why are you telling me this, sir?"

He studied Hermione, his gaze just as penetrating now as it was when he was her teacher. "Minerva talks to herself. I've had to listen to that woman's chatter more in the past six months than in nearly two decades of working together. She regrets her actions, Miss Granger."

"I didn't think you cared."

"I don't, but if I'm stuck here, I'd rather have something more interesting to listen to than her repentances regarding the treatment of her favorite student."

"No one forced her to lie."

Snape sighed. "I don't think you understand the level of guilt the adults in your life have over the war. Miss Granger, you were not even a sparkle in your parents' eye the first time the Dark Lord rose to power. Although many didn't understand how Mr. Potter was able to make him disappear, they were grateful. It was over. Imagine how they must have felt when he rose again, only they weren't the young, brash fighters of the first war. They were no longer invincible. They had families to think of, children who would soon join the fight besides them; so many young lives gone."

Hermione swallowed the lump in her throat, thinking of Fred. Colin. Lavender.

"I imagine couples like Arthur and Molly Weasley think of their son's loss as punishment for not defeating the Dark Lord the first time around."

Hermione jumped out of her chair. "That's not fair! Fred wanted to fight! Every one of us who fought that day chose to be there. Colin even snuck into Hogwarts so he could help."

"I know that, Miss Granger, and you know that, but people under extreme grief and stress don't have that level of sensibility. When Lucius informed Kingsley that you considered suicide as an alternative to Dolohov and Yaxley, he reacted."

"I don't understand how -"

"Tonks was his best friend. They always backed each other. Even when he was navigating his dual role, he remained her shadow. That night was the first time they didn't fight side-by-side and she died."

Hermione was quiet. She knew Kingsley and Tonks were close, but she never realized how close. From the way Snape spoke, it was as if they were as close as she was with Harry and Ron. If something had happened to either one of them …

"That doesn't excuse his actions."

"Would you stop being so stubborn, girl? He made a mistake. Those who listen to him made a mistake. How is your childish behavior helping?"

"I'm mad, dammit! I was in that battle, too! I was at the Ministry when the Death Eaters wanted the prophecy! I fought them described as Harry! I suffered Bellatrix Lestrange's torture! Don't you dare make it sound like I sat holed up in some room with books and research and theories while everyone else was putting their life on the line!"

"No one said that, Miss Granger."

She took a step back, one hand over her chest as she caught her breath. She could feel her magic tingling, a sign that she was overcharged. Closing her eyes, she forced herself to breathe deeply, counting to three with each inhale in and exhale out.

"Survivor's guilt is a real thing, Miss Granger. Mr. Potter feels it often. I'm sure George Weasley does as well. It's understandable that you, too, might feel as if you don't deserve happiness after all the suffering you've seen."

She sat in her chair, her arms resting on her legs as she bent forward, her hair hiding her sudden tears. It would not do to cry in front of Snape. Even if he was just a painting, he was still scary.

"I wasn't really thinking about killing myself," she whispered. "It was a knee-jerk response."

"Was it a knee-jerk response to tell Mr. Potter you'd go with him to the Dark Lord?"

She stared Snape in the eye. "I didn't want him to die alone. I didn't want you to die alone."

The expression on his face didn't change with her statement. "You are a true Gryffindor, Miss Granger; brash, stubborn and loyal to a fault. While you may consider these admirable traits, there are times holding on to them does more harm than good."

He closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair, looking as if he was readying himself for an afternoon nap. Hermione was suddenly reluctant to end the conversation.

"Sir! May I ask one more question?"

"If you must," he drawled, not bothering to open his eyes.

"Dolohov and Yaxley. The blood ritual. Will it work?"

"Blood rites are a strange thing, Miss Granger. They require precision, timing. I know it seems as if you are the only link to the Dark Lord, but I assure you there are others."

"That isn't comforting, professor."

"It's not meant to be, Miss Granger. Evil exists in our world. Those who crave it will always seek it. For men like Dolohov, it's the siren's call. If he couldn't focus on you, he would find another witch or wizard with any tie to the Dark Lord and profess to have a spell that could bring him to back."

"So it won't work?"

Snape opened his eyes. "I didn't say that."

"You haven't said anything!"

"What they plan to do will kill you. It will be painful. Will it bring the Dark Lord back to our world? I cannot say, but the fact that you will suffer tremendously when they try to make that happen is enough to for the people who care about you go to extremes to make sure it doesn't. The only way to ensure that the Dark Lord doesn't return is to eradicate those who still support him. That's the fight, Miss Granger; that's where your focus needs to be."

Hermione opened her mouth to reply, but the door opened, signaling the return of Professor McGonagall and Kingsley.

"Are you feeling better?" he asked, moving forward to study her, mistaking her pale face in reaction to Snape's words as actual sickness. Feeling guilty that he forced Hermione to come to Hogwarts in hope that seeing her friends would make her smile, Kingsley vowed to leave her alone unless absolutely necessary. She wasn't going to forgive him. Part of him didn't blame her, though another part was still stubborn enough to think he did the right thing.

She nodded in response to his question, avoiding his penetrating gaze.

* * *

><p>Kingsley couldn't sleep. Hermione went straight to her rooms after returning to the manor. Walter no longer bothered setting a place for her at the dining room table, allowing one of the other elves to bring meals to her suite instead. Kingsley ate his meal in silence, and then retreated to his study to work, but he was unable to concentrate. After reading over the same piece of legislation regarding the increasing goblin population for the fourth time, he pushed the papers aside and stalked to his bedroom. Peeling off his clothes, he left them in a pile on the floor and padded naked to the shower, leaving the water on warm to sooth the strained muscles in his shoulders. Spending hours at a desk wasn't doing him any favors. Neither was living in a house engulfed in tension. He needed to talk to Hermione. He needed to forge an understanding so that they could at least be civil towards each other. He accepted the fact that their physical relationship was over. He didn't like it, but he accepted it. That didn't mean that the rest of their time together had to be so difficult.<p>

Stepping off the shower, Kingsley opted for a towel instead of a drying spell, tying it around his waist as he left the bathroom.

"Kingsley, I – oh God!"

He stopped dead still, his eyes boring holes in Hermione who was staring at him with her mouth slightly agape.

"Is something wrong?" he asked roughly, desperately wishing she'd run back to her room at the same time praying she'd stay.

"I wanted to talk to you and, um, didn't think you'd be getting ready for bed so soon. Um …" she was blushing furiously, her eyes darting around the room as she tried to look at anything that wasn't him. "Never mind. It's fine."

She turned to rush out of his bedroom, but Kingsley grabbed her arm before she could. "Hermione, please don't go. We need to talk."

"I can't talk to you like this!" she exploded, shrugging out of his grip.

He smirked. He couldn't help it. She may despise him, but part of her still wanted him.

"No," she growled. "You don't get to have that self-satisfied look anymore! You and me – I'm your assignment. No more, no less."

Shoving past him she marched out of the room. "If you want to talk, I'll be in the library."

Kingsley watched her go, the smile still on his face as he admired her stalking form.

"And stop looking at me that way!"

* * *

><p>She still wanted him. How wrong was that? Sitting on the leather couch, her knees drawn to her chest, Hermione rocked herself back and forth as she tried to calm down. The mere sight of a nearly-naked Kingsley set her blood boiling. She wanted to forget her rehearsed speech and push him to the floor so she could jump him and take her aggression out on his mouth-watering body.<p>

"You wanted to talk?"

She looked up, her shoulders automatically stiffening as Kingsley walked in the room, taking a seat on the opposite end of the couch. He, too, sat stiffly. Both were silent, waiting for the other one to speak first.

"You do realize you are tenser around me now than when all of this began?" he remarked, flashing back to their somewhat awkward lunch at The Three Broomsticks.

"Things changed."

He sighed heavily. "And you're angry about that."

"Wouldn't you be?"

He pinched his nose between his fingers. "What do you want me to say – I was wrong? Fine. I was wrong. I made a decision. It wasn't the right one. By the time I realized that, nothing I told you was going to make you less mad at me.

"Do you want to know why the Order meant that night? It was to come clean. Molly didn't like you thinking you were the only one who had this information. She didn't want you to feel alone. Minerva was worried you'd try something dangerous and Arthur … To be honest, he was more concerned with how he caught me looking at you a few times. But the fact of the matter was they no longer supported my actions and wanted to come clean. You can choose not to believe me, but that's the truth," he finished, sitting back with an air of resigned finality.

Hermione considered his statement. Kingsley may be a lot of things, but he wasn't a liar. An evader, sure, but she never knew him to twist the facts to make himself look better.

"Why didn't you tell me that then?"

He snorted.

"Fine, but what about later? It's not like you haven't had the opportunity."

"Have I? Really? Hermione, I can count on one hand the number of times you've spoken to me in the past month! If we aren't forced to be in each other's company for some Ministry affair, you're in your rooms! You don't respond to my notes, to knocks on the door – you cut me out of your life!"

"I was mad!" she shouted.

"You were? Really?" he yelled back. "I hadn't fucking noticed!"

She jumped from the couch, her wand out and pointed to his chest before she realized it. Kingsley, to his credit, remained still, his eyes trained on her. She was panting, her cheeks flushed as she glared at him, her arm trembling from the surge of magic coursing through her body.

"Do I need to remind you cursing the Minister for Magic is a punishable offense?" he asked in a calm voice. "I'd hate for Harry and Ron to have to arrest their best friend."

She lowered her wand slowly. "Is everything a joke to you?"

He shrugged. "I'm drained, all right? I can't apologize any more. I can't force you to accept the apologies I made. If I had a Time Turner … no. Even if I could go back and make it so it wouldn't have happened, I wouldn't. My job is to make the decisions no one else wants to make. Are they always the right ones? No, but if I start questioning everything, I'm of no use to our world."

She let her arm fall to her side.

"I regret not keeping you informed, Hermione. I won't make that mistake again. I don't regret sleeping with you. Having you in my arms, in my bed, was incredible. Knowing I was the first to have you is something I'll always cherish. I understand it's unlikely that that aspect of our relationship will continue, but I want you to know that my sleeping with you was in no way related to my assignment. Had we come across each other in another situation, maybe some random Order get-together, I would have made a move. You are gorgeous, sexy and brilliant. There's no way I would have been able to let you go without trying to charm my way into your bed."

Standing, Kingsley stalked to the other side of the library, trying to will away the memories of a naked and willing Hermione. Crossing his arms across his chest, he leaned against the wall and looked at the witch who was watching him with a wary expression.

"We made a promise, Hermione, that when the physical aspect of our relationship ended, we would remain friends. We're there now, so I'm extending the olive branch. Circumstances force us to remain in each other's company for the foreseeable future. While I prefer we spend it the way we were, I can go back to being friends. And I swear that you will be a part of any future conversations regarding your safety. What say you?"

She sat down, her carefully-worded speech about trust and equality and needing to prove herself flying out of her head. "I don't know if I forgive you. You made me feel like a fool. I believe that wasn't your intention, but the end result is the same."

He nodded in understanding, but didn't issue another apology. When he said he was done, he meant it.

"That being said, it's exhausting being angry at you. I accept your olive branch and agree to go back to how things were if you truly promise not to do anything so asinine again."

He crossed over to the couch and held out his hand. "Truce?"

She took it, somewhat reluctantly, feeling as if there was more to be said, but was unsure how to say it. "Truce."


	27. Chapter 27

**A/N: Happy holidays all! Let's send 2014 out with a bang ... and maybe something sweet for Hermione and Kingsley.**

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><p>Hermione giggled as Teddy studied the cake in front of him, his tiny face solemn as he took in the colorful frosting, his hair turning the same shades of green, red and blue as the frosting while the adults crowded around Andromeda's dining room encouraged him to have a taste.<p>

"Grab a mouthful, Teddy!" Ron cried. "There's nothing better!"

"Says the man who will eat anything," Hermione teased. Squatting near Teddy's high chair, she moved her head closer to the now one-year-old, making smacking noises with her mouth. "It's yummy, Teddy. Want to give it a try?"

The look he gave her was so undeniably Remus, Hermione startled and would have fallen on her backside had Kingsley not caught her under her arms, lifting her back to her feet.

"Thank you," she murmured.

"Anytime," he replied, loosening his hold so she could step away from him, joining Harry and Ron near the larger cake Andromeda said was for the adults.

Teddy's first birthday party was an odd combination of brightly colored decorations and a roomful of adults unsure of what to do while the guest of honor watched them warily, not used to seeing so many faces at once. He was more interested in the wrapping paper than the large pile of gifts Andromeda and Harry helped him open and even now was struggling to keep his eyes open.

"Come on, love," Andromeda cooed. "Can you take one bite for Grandma?"

Kingsley snickered, earning an elbow to his side from said Grandma. That was the last word he'd use to describe the Tonks family matriarch, who dressed for her grandson's first birthday party in a spring dress the same shade of pink blush as the peonies blooming in her garden. She didn't look old enough to be a grandmother, a compliment that earned him a brilliant smile when he and Hermione arrived.

"Enough," he said, striding forward, ignoring everyone's (well, the women's) gasps as he swiped his finger through Teddy's cake, sliding it between the boy's lips. Teddy's eyes grew round and his hair turned a bright orange before he squealed in delight, his chubby fists diving into the small tier before him, smearing cake and frosting over his face as he tried to get more in his mouth.

"I'm flashing back to too many meals with Ron," Harry whispered to Hermione, wrapping an arm around her waist. She giggled and rested her head against his shoulder, not noticing the man across the room who watched them with a steady gaze.

Teddy party was the first celebration the Order attempted since Voldemort's defeat. Harry was not up for a party on his birthday, opting to stay at Grimmauld Place with only Ginny, Ron and Hermione for company. Hermione felt the same way when her birthday rolled around two months later and while Ron accepted his mother's offer of a meal of all of his favorite dishes on his birthday, he turned down presents. Everyone held their breath as the calendar neared April 1, not sure how George would react to his first birthday without Fred. Kingsley chose to be proactive rather than reactive, flooing the red-headed wizard to the manor for several days, leaving him and Hermione alone as they cried, drank, laughed, drank, drank, ate and drank some more. Hermione was sleeping off one of their drinking bouts when Kingsley took George to the dueling room in the manor's basement and helped him relieve his grief, anger and frustration in a more productive manner. Kingsley watched proudly as George blew things up, the depth of his anguish adding power to his hexes Kingsley had not seen from him before.

Spent, George leaned collapsed on the floor, his chest heaving as he stared at the ceiling.

"Thank you," he gasped quietly.

Kingsley raised an eyebrow in surprise. "For?"

"For bringing me here – this room, the manor. I couldn't face my family, not now. With Hermione, I don't have to pretend. She lets me feel what I need to feel, and doesn't try to make me feel better." He turned his head to study Kingsley, who was balanced on his haunches, an unreadable expression on his face. "She's pretty special, our Hermione."

"I'm aware."

"I'm the closest thing she has to a big brother, you know. When I found out what you did … I would have hurt you, but I knew she'd do a better job of it. No one gets angry like my Hermione."

Kingsley kept his gaze steady on George, prepared to take whatever he had to say.

"She told me the two have you have reached an understanding of sorts."

"We have."

"Good. I don't like seeing her upset. Hermione can take care of herself, so if you tell her I said this, I'll deny it, but she cares for you more than she wants to admit. Even when she was pissed and wanted to curse you, she still wanted to push you against the wall and snog you senseless. That pissed her off even more."

"I'm not sure I'm comfortable talking about this with you."

"And you think I am?" he exclaimed, rolling over so he could sit up. "Merlin's balls, this is my best friend and her sex life I'm talking about! The only way this could be more uncomfortable was if she and Ron had shagged!"

Kingsley winced at the mental image that popped in his head, missing George's smirk.

"What I want to say is this: She wouldn't have slept with you if she didn't care for you. If she decides to let you in her bed again, you will treat her like a goddess. She's one in a million and deserves more than anyone can ever give her." George took a breath, his face more serious than Kingsley had ever seen. "I think you stand a better chance than most."

Weeks later, Kingsley was still mulling over George's words. In some ways, like had returned to normal for him and Hermione … well, as normal as things would be under the circumstances. She spent most of her days revising for her N.E.W.T.s, but Cormon reported that she was back in fighting form during their hand-to-hand training sessions. She even spent some time in the dueling room under the guise of revising for her Defense Against the Dark Arts examination. If she didn't join him for meals, it wasn't deliberate on her part; she was simply engrossed in her studies. The few formal events they attended as a couple were well-received – _The Daily Prophet _could not get enough photos of Kingsley's ring on Hermione's finger and _Witch Weekly _was full of speculation about what they called the Wedding of the Year. Kingsley and his staff remained tight-lipped about his personal life and Hermione managed to come off as both gracious and romantic when she declined to share the details of their engagement with other witches during social events, though she did let it slip that she initially refused the ring, a detail he was sure was a playful jab at his expense.

They no longer went out of their way to avoid each other, but he was careful not to touch her unless he had to. He told himself the differential treatment was so he wouldn't confuse her, but the truth was he couldn't touch her and not take her. She was like a drug; the more he denied himself, the stronger the desire. Catching her just now stirred something in him, making him grateful for his robes that camouflaged his excitement at having her close, even if it was just for a moment.

The cry of the babe at the head of the table brought Kingsley back to the present, as several women rushed forward to comfort the overwhelmed child now covered in cake. Hermione cast a gentle _Scourgify_ to clean most of the mess from Teddy's face and hands before she lifted him from the highchair, telling Andromeda she would get him settled for a nap.

"You don't need to do that, Hermione."

"But I want to," she said. "Please, stay with your guests. I'll be down soon."

"We've got to take off anyway," Harry announced, coming forward to kiss his godson on his head. "Happy birthday, Teddy. I'll come visit in a few days and we'll go to the park, all right?"

Teddy nodded, his eyes already drifting closed. Hermione kissed Harry and Ron goodbye, then walked upstairs, talking quietly to the little boy. Kingsley watched her go, ignoring the look Harry and Ron exchanged. He wasn't anxious to have a repeat of his conversation with George, so he hastily offered his arm to Andromeda and led her to the sitting room for coffee and conversation, making the young wizards snort in amusement on their way to the fireplace to floo home. Their exit prompted the others to take their leave, distracting both Kingsley and Andromeda as they said their good-byes. It wasn't until the two were seated in the parlor with much-needed cups of tea that Andromeda realized Hermione wasn't with them.

"She's napping with Teddy," Kingsley said, leaning back in his chair, his long legs stretched in front of him. He was exhausted. How could someone so little take up so much energy?

"And you know this how?"

Kingsley didn't open his eyes, but he knew Andromeda was watching him with that sparkle in her eyes so much like her daughter's. He missed Tonks. She should be here. It wasn't fair that he was the one celebrating her son's birthday.

"You can't continue to blame yourself."

He opened his eyes. "I'm sorry?"

"Nymphadora. From the moment she was born, she did what she wanted; no one could tell her different. She became an auror against Ted's and my wishes. When we talked about leaving Britain after Voldemort's return, she responded by joining the Order. Even Remus advised her against falling in love with him and the result of that relationship is hopefully sleeping upstairs. She wasn't supposed to be at Hogwarts that night. Remus didn't want her to go. I didn't want her to go." Andromeda looked down at the delicate teacup in her hands, one of a few in her great-grandmother's set that her beloved daughter didn't break. "She knew what she was doing, Kingsley. She couldn't stay away while her husband and her friends fought."

"I saw her," he said quietly. "I should have stayed with her. That's what we do."

"No, that's what you did, when you were partners," Andromeda told him. "That wasn't a mission; it was war. You couldn't fight and protect her. She knew that."

"But when she went running after Remus ..."

"You and Hermione were dueling with Death Eaters. Would you have left a girl alone to go after a trained auror?"

Kingsley didn't answer, but the guilt on his face said everything.

"I don't blame you, Kingsley. No one does. You were a great friend to my daughter when she was alive and you continue to be a great friend to her in her death. Your presence has been a great comfort to me this past year, and to Teddy. I only wish you would find that same level of comfort."

Kingsley shifted. Why was he suddenly on the receiving end of so much advice? He was fine. Maybe he got a little down at times, but he lost a lot of friends in the war. He was allowed to mourn, right? He looked at Andromeda who was watching him as if she was waiting for him to say something. For once, he didn't have the words.

"It hasn't changed, the way you look at her."

He shook his head, flashing back to a similar conversation he had with Andromeda months ago. Was it really ever so simple?

"She still watches you, too."

He gave a half-hearted laugh. "She might have, but not anymore."

Andromeda sighed. "What did you do?"

"You automatically assume I did something?"

"You're a man, Kingsley. The man always does something."

He sighed and leaned back in his chair. "I rather not talk about it."

"In other words, you don't come off well in the retelling."

"No, I don't. I made the mistake of thinking I knew better than she did and kept something from her. Ow!" Kingsley rubbed the top of his head. "What was that for?"

Andromeda sat back, the palm of her hand stinging somewhat from where she smacked Kingsley on top of his skull, hoping to knock some sense into him. "That was for the young girl who is too polite to give you what you deserve."

"I'll have you know that polite girl pulled her wand on me."

"Yes, but did she use it?" When he said nothing, she sat back in her seat with a contented smile. "I rest my case."

Kingsley pushed himself to his feet. "As much fun as this is, I'm going to take Hermione home. You can start compiling my list of faults and read them to me during our next visit."

Andromeda stood, too, holding her arms out to hug Kingsley. "Don't pout," she chided. "You are a wonderful man whose only fault is that he cares too much. Stop blaming yourself for things that are out of your control and for what happened in the past, even the mistakes that were your fault, and embrace the happiness that can be yours if you're brave enough to take it."

* * *

><p>Andromeda's words echoed in Kingsley's head as he climbed the stairs to Teddy's room. Was he holding on to his grief, using it as some sort of shield?<p>

Not liking where his train of thought was going. Kingsley pushed open the door to Teddy's room, smiling at the sight of the little boy sleeping in Hermione's arms in the oversized rocking chair near his crib. His face was pressed against her chest, his mouth partially open as he slurped on his thumb. She had one of her arms around his waist, the other underneath his bottom. He leaned against the door jam and watched the two of them, not wanting to disturb the peacefulness of the moment.

"I can feel you staring," she murmured, not opening her eyes.

He entered the room. "I thought you were sleeping," he whispered, getting closer to the chair.

She opened her eyes slowly. "More like dozing," she replied in a low voice. "He's so cuddly."

Kingsley grinned. "Anytime you want to cuddle, love …"

She rolled her eyes, shifting slightly. Kingsley held up his hand, stopping her movements and moved to take Teddy from her arms.

"Don't wake him," she cautioned.

"I know how to do this," he replied, wincing when Teddy's eyes opened. He focused on Kingsley for a second, smiling sleepily and then closed them again. Letting his breath out slowly, Kingsley carried him to his crib, laying Teddy down on his stomach and pulling a light blue blanket over him.

Hermione joined him at the crib. "He's the perfect combination of Tonks and Remus," she whispered. "Every time I see him, I feel like they're with us. He's going to make them proud, won't he?"

"Without a doubt."

She looked at him and smiled. Going with instinct, he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her to his side, both of them silent as they watched Teddy sleep.

"We should go," Hermione whispered.

Nodding, Kingsley kissed his fingertips and touched the boy's head. "Sweet dreams, Teddy Bear."

Hermione copied his movements. "Love you, Teddy."

Taking Hermione's hand, Kingsley led them out of the bedroom. Before they reached the stairs, Hermione tugged, stopping him in his tracks. "What's wrong?"

She stood on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his. Looking back, it was barely a kiss, just a light touch of her lips to his, but it snapped his self-control. Growling softly, he let go of her hand to wrap his arms around her, pulling her body flush against his, his mouth taking hers with force. He swallowed her moan of pleasure when his tongue slid against hers, the sound going straight to his groin. He forced himself to pull away before he lost himself.

"Hermione, what -"

She pulled his head down to her, kissing him again. "Don't ask questions," she told him between kisses. "Just take me home."


	28. Chapter 28

**A/N: Happy 2015 everyone! I mean to update this story sooner, but then I got trapped in a couple of older fanfics that were amazing and lost hours reading. If you haven't read anything by laurielove, do it now. You'll be glad you did.**

* * *

><p>He was quiet as they walked to the manor from the apparition point. Hermione glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, but his face gave away nothing. She wondered if he would change his mind. She hoped not. She knew her kiss caught him off guard; it was supposed to. Until now, he called the shots, everything from having her move in with him to deciding what information he'd share with her regarding her possible death. They may have declared a truce and he may be more forthcoming with information as he received it – she wasn't sure; if anything, his earlier actions and those of people she admired reinforced her belief that the fewer people she trusted, the less disappointed she'd be – but he still maintained a sense of dominance over her. She was ready to take some of the power for herself.<p>

He stopped at the main entrance.

"We don't have to do this," he said, looking down at her with apprehension, almost as if he was worried that anything he said or do would make her change her mind.

She wanted to laugh. She'd never seen him so uncertain. This was going to be fun.

"Do you not want to?" she asked innocently.

"No. I mean, yes, I do, but … we're just now getting back to a good place. I don't want to do anything to mess it up, so I was thinking maybe we should go slower this time."

She pushed open the door, mainly to hide the smirk on her face as Kingsley stumbled over his words. Slipping out of her wedge sandals, Hermione held them in one hand as she walked to the stairs. She turned when she was halfway up only to see him still outside, watching her hungrily. Adding fuel to the fire, she lifted her empty hand to undo the buttons of the light blue cardigan she wore over her sundress, his eyes watching her every move.

"I have no problem with going slow," she told him, "as long as I get to decide what we're doing at the time."

Turning, she continued her climb up the stairs, her breath coming out in a surprised gasp when he caught up to her, swinging her into his arms. She dropped her shoes on the steps and linked her arms around his neck, kissing him softly as he carried her up the remaining stairs. She'd never admit it, but she loved when he carried her. There was something about being in his arms that made her feel safe, but it was more than that, too. When he held her, she felt treasured. When he looked at her the way he was right now, his eyes darkening as he focused on nothing but her, she felt precious. When he would smile at her in that slow way he had, she melted. Kingsley was dangerous when he smiled. The man smiled often, but that smile, the one that made her imagine he was picturing everything he was going to do her, made her insides melt.

"What?" he asked.

"I didn't say anything."

"You're looking at me."

She giggled. "I'm in your arms. My looking options are somewhat limited."

He shifted her. "Want me to throw you over my shoulder again?"

Hermione pulled herself up so she could peek over Kingsley's shoulder. "Well … it _is_ a great view."

"Stop it," he growled.

Hermione peered at his face. "Are you blushing?"

"I don't blush."

"You are!"

He stopped in the doorway of his bedroom. "Are you finished?" he asked, one eyebrow raised as he looked at her.

She nodded, pressing her lips together so she wouldn't laugh.

"Really?"

She snorted. "Sorry! I'm sorry!" She cleared her throat and coughed twice. "Okay. I'm good now; let's do this."

He set her on her feet, moving so she had to back up against the wall next to the door. "Let's do this?" he asked, placing his hands on either side of her. "Really?"

She giggled again. "I don't know where that came from."

"You're in quite the mood, Miss Granger. If we hadn't spent the afternoon in the company of a one-year-old, I would think you got into the liquor cabinet." He leaned forward, stopping just before his forehead touched hers.

"What are you doing?"

"Making sure you have your complete faculties," he murmured, peering into her eyes.

She ran her hands slowly up his stomach, loving the feel of his muscles rippling under her touch. She lingered at his chest, pressing her hands flat against him, so she could lean forward and kiss his chin. "Did I ever tell you how gorgeous you are?"

He caught her hands in his and kissed her knuckles. "You might have mentioned it once or twice, but feel free to elaborate."

"You are, Minister. You have the body of a warrior – all muscle and strength, but with this gracefulness that's unexpected in a man your size. You move like a dancer, all fluid."

He rolled his eyes, but didn't stop her, instead turning her hands over to kiss the inside of her wrist before nibbling slowly up one arm and down the other. He could feel her pulse jump; hear the catch in her breath. She stopped talking. When he brought his gaze back to hers, she was watching him, her eyes hooded.

"Are you all right?"

She nodded, blushing slightly as she moved her arms around his neck, sliding his hands down her arms, then moving them along her sides, slowly, until he settled his hands on her waist. "You make a girl lose her head, Kingsley."

"Did I interrupt something important?" he asked quietly, moving in to kiss the side of her neck, his breath warm on her skin. She arched to give him better access, moaning softly when his tongue touched her skin.

"Mmm. I wanted to seduce you."

"Really?" He stopped his ministrations and stepped away from her, trying to ignore the empty feeling he got when she wasn't in his arms. "I'd hate to disappoint you. Please, continue."

She narrowed her eyes, certain he was up to something, but the man simply stood there, arms crossed over his chest. Tilting her head to the side, she brought her hands up to push the lightweight cardigan off of her shoulders. Her dress was cream-colored wits blue piping along the hem and sweetheart neckline. The spaghetti straps were blue satin and tended to slide, which she usually found annoying, but watching Kingsley's eyes go dark as he watched one strap slide down her shoulder, she changed her mind.

"Would you mind getting the zipper for me?" she asked innocently as she walked towards him.

He shook his head, so she gathered her hair in a loose hold on top of her head and turned around. She made herself hold still as his knuckles brushed against her skin before he grasped the zipped gently, slowing sliding it down.

"Thank you," she murmured, stepping away and letting her hair fall to her back. Walking to Kingsley's bedroom, she let the dress fall to the floor, stepping out of the puddle of fabric on the floor. Looking over her shoulder, she gave what she hoped was a come-hither smile.

"Coming?" she asked. "Or do I need to get started on my own?"

He swallowed. She was only wearing a pair of satin blue knickers and a sinful smile that spoke of promises and heartbreak. He moved to grab her, but she slid out of his grasp, walking to the bed, stopping at the side.

"You are overdressed," she told him.

He raised his hands to undo the buttons of his dark green button-down shirt, but she stopped him.

"Let me. Please."

He dropped his hands and she deliberately pushed each button through the opening, biting her lower lip as she watched her progress. "Have I told you I love your shirts?"

"No."

"I do, especially the way you roll up your sleeves to just above your elbow," she told him as she ran her fingers lightly down his arms as she unrolled each sleeve. "It's so hot. It's a shame you have to cover up with robes."

She tossed his shirt behind him. He opened his mouth to respond, but lost his ability to talk and her hands moved to his belt, her movements sure as she unbuckled it and the button of his dark slacks. His zipper was next, the sound of it somehow echoing in the room as she slowly gently slid it down. She pushed the pants down slim hips, strong legs.

"Shoes," she laughed, pushing him so he fell back on his bed. Propping himself on his elbows, he saw her kneel to the ground and slide each shoe from his feet, followed by his socks. Grasping the hem of his pants, those followed. When he was left in nothing but a pair of black boxers, she crawled on the bed, bypassing him to settle on the pillows on the far side. He rolled over and oved so he was lying on his back next to her.

"Better?"

She moved swiftly so she was on top of him. "It's going to be."

* * *

><p>It was dark when he opened his eyes. He could tell she wasn't in the bed before he started patting the covers to make sure.<p>

"Lumos," he said softly, pushing himself to a seated position. He was right. Hermione was gone. Judging by the coolness of the sheets, she'd been gone for some time. "Walter."

The elf appeared immediately. "Sir."

"What time is it?" he asked, rubbing a hand over his face.

"Almost 10. Would Mr. Minister want dinner now?"

"Hmm. Where's Miss Granger?"

"Missy already had her dinner. She's sleeping in her room. She asked me to give you this," he said, handed over a folded piece of parchment. "Mr. Minister? Do you want food?"

"What? Oh, sure; nothing big."

Walter disappeared, but Kingsley paid no attention as he unfolded Hermione's note.

_K,_

_Technically, I did not sneak out of bed, as you were sleeping and I was hungry. Also, that rule was made the last time we were intimate with each other. In the spirit of taking things slow, I opt to sleep in my own bed and trust you will abide by my wishes._

_H_

* * *

><p>"I want you in my bed."<p>

Hermione continued to pour her coffee. "Good morning to you, too."

He pulled out his chair and sat. "Why did you leave?"

She took his cup and poured coffee for him, too, handing the cup to him undoctored. He grabbed her wrist before she could pull away again.

"I feel I explained it perfectly in the note. I have my own room, my own bed, and I prefer sleeping there."

His eyes narrowed slightly. "You didn't always feel that way."

She pulled her hand out of his and sat back in her chair. "As I told you before, things change. I am trying my best to move forward. While I agreed to cease the silent treatment and am happy to resume our physical relationship, I wasn't kidding when I said you have the power to make me forget myself and our situation."

His face was serious. "I'd never hurt you, Hermione."

"Deliberately, no. There are other ways, Kingsley," she said, holding up a hand when he opened his mouth. "I don't want to rehash the past. For now, I prefer sleeping in my bed. If you can't accept that, then we should stop now before things go too far."

He put his hand on top of hers. "I'm sorry."

She smiled kindly. "I know you are." Sliding her hand out from under his, she took the napkin from the side of her plate and spread it on her lap. "Now, I learned something interesting when we were at Andromeda's yesterday."

Kingsley considered pursuing the conversation, but judging by Hermione's actions, that was something she did not want to do. Rather than push her too far, he decided to back off for the time being. "Enlighten me," he said.

"Your birthday was two weeks ago."

He sighed. "Andromeda."

"Why wouldn't you tell me?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. In the grand scheme of things, my turning a year older does not have as big of an impact as making sure you get to celebrate another birthday."

She leaned forward. "Is it an age thing?"

He glared at her. "No."

"Really? Because I speak from experience when I say you're an extremely virile man. I mean, yes, you fell asleep before eight last night, but that was after several physical feats. Not all 40-year-old men -"

"I'm not 40 and how would you know what men that age can do?"

She smirked and took another bite of her French toast.

"You have a horrible mean streak," he told her.

"Blame George," she answered briskly. "Honestly, though, I do feel bad for missing your birthday. What would you like to do to make up for it?"

"I'm sorry?"

"We should celebrate. The only question is how. You are the birthday boy, so it's your call."

"You want to celebrate my birthday?"

"Yes."

"And I choose what we do?"

"Precisely."

"And if I choose the opera?"

She laughed. "Knowing how much you hated it the last time we went, I feel same that formal attire will not be part of your plans."

Damn. She had him there. Still, a night out with Hermione would be fun. He enjoyed their day in London.

"Honestly, I'd like to go a to Muggle pub."

She didn't seem surprised by his words. She understood his need to fly under the radar every now and then. "Fine. Any pub in particular?"

"Nothing upscale, just your average pub with good food, good drinks, and a dartboard. I want a rematch."

She laughed. They played one game during their day in London. She was inebriated at the time, which had the odd effect of improving her game. "You hate to lose, don't you?"

"You have no idea."

* * *

><p>"You're cheating."<p>

She threw her head back and laughed. "How am I cheating?"

"You're using magic," he grumbled as she walked to the board to remove her darts, one which was resting nice and center on the bullseye. He tried to focus on that and not the way the black jeans she wore hugged her body. She paired them with a short-sleeved white T-shirt, black trainers and a red cap with her hair pulled through the back in the low ponytail. Glancing at the guys at the next table, he wasn't the only one who appreciated her casual look.

"Yes, they teacher us silent, wandless magic at Hogwarts to that we can win at pub games," she replied, rolling her eyes as she placed the darts in his hand. "Face it, Kingsley. You are a sore loser."

"You think so?"

"I know so," she replied, moving back to their table. The pub was a step above a hole-in-the-wall, with scarred wood floors; smoke-stained walls despite the 'No smoking' sign above the bar, and quite possibly the best corn chowder in all of London. Moving aside their now-empty bowls, Hermione sipped from her glass of white wine.

"One more game," Kingsley suggested.

"You've lost two."

"Those were a warm-up," he told her, signaling the waiter for another round of drinks.

"If you say so," she replied in a singsong voice.

"Are you that sure of yourself, Hermione?" Kingsley asked. "Are you willing to make a wager?"

"Name it."

"If I win, you stay in my bed tonight."

"That's it? You want me to sleep with you?"

He gave her that smile. "Eventually."

She snorted. "Fine. And if I win, I want a day with my friends in Diagon Alley."

He held out his hand. "Deal."

* * *

><p>Her mouth fell open as he hit the bullseye.<p>

Again.

"I think that's the game, Miss Granger," he told her, finishing the rest of his drink with a smirk.

"You set me up."

He set down his glass. "Are you implying that I cheated?"

"I'm not implying anything; I'm outright saying it," she glared at him. "You pretended to be bad until you could manipulate the situation to get what you want."

They didn't call her the brightest witch of her age for nothing. "Are you going to welch?"

She crossed her arms over her chest. "I don't go back on my word."

He grabbed her arm and pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her. "Good," he said in a low voice. "Because you are driving me crazy. All I can think about it you, remember what you look like when you are on top of me, your hands gripping my arms as you take me inside you."

She groaned. "Kingsley …"

"Or when you're underneath me, your legs wrapped around my body as I move inside you, trying to get closer, deeper. There's nothing sexier than your hear spread across my pillows, your lips swollen from my kisses, your voice breaking as you come screaming."

"Kingsley!" she hissed.

"I want you, Hermione. You're all I think about. I can't get you out of my head. I've tried. Merlin, how I've tried. Even when you hated me, I wanted you."

"I didn't hate you. I was mad at you."

"And that killed me, love. I deserved it, I know that, just like I know I'll never get back what we had, but I'll take any part of you that you'll give me. If I have to manipulate a situation for more …"

He stopped talking and kissed her, his tongue sliding into her mouth smoothly, momentarily forgetting where they were as her tongue tangled with his.

"Hey buddy! Get a room!"

He pulled back, breathing harshly. Hermione's eyes were heavy, her cheeks flushed as she looked at him.

"Good idea," he said to the barman. Tossing some bills on the table, he grabbed Hermione's hand and pulled her from the pub, barely registering the clapping from the guys at the next table.


	29. Chapter 29

**A/N: Put two independent and stubborn people together, and you have a group of friends who wish one of them would make a move already! Well, an emotional move. Hermione and Kingsley have the physical part of their relationship handled, thank you very much.**

* * *

><p>The room was damp, the lone light coming from a candle nearly burned to the end floating near an empty cauldron on a large oak table. A man sat on a chair next to the table, his back straight, eyes closed. At first glance, one would think he was asleep, had it not been for the clench of his jaw.<p>

"Well?" Yaxley asked impatiently.

Dolohov opened his eyes. "Soon."

"You've been saying that for months, Antonin."

Dolohov stood up, his movement predatory as he approached the man he once called brother; a man he now hated, but was bound to because of their task. "Are you questioning me?"

Yaxley drew himself to his full height. "Are you questioning yourself?"

"Not at all. Be ready."

* * *

><p>"Explain it to me again. Kingsley won the bet, yet here you are?"<p>

Hermione took a sip of her tea. "He didn't win; he cheated. Therefore, in the interest of being fair, we both got what we wanted."

"I don't think you can call what he did cheating, Hermione. The way you tell it, he withheld information, waiting until the opportune time to share that knowledge when it was a benefit to him," George hopped on the counter, full of admiration for the man who managed to get something past Hermione Granger. "It's genius, actually."

She glared at him. "Whose side are you on?"

"Yours, first and always, but you've got to admit, the man has style."

Hermione preferred not to think of Kingsley's style. As promised, she went home with him and spent the night in his bed after several hours of doing other things in said bed. When she woke up the next morning, he was the one who was gone, a note on his pillow telling her he had an early meeting and that he'd be gone until late that night.

_I made a few calls and arranged it so you could spend the afternoon with Harry, Ron, and George. Cormon will take you to George's after lunch. Please remain on the premises until he says it's time to leave._

_I think it will be good for you to get away from your books for a day._

Cormon arrived at the manor with two aurors in tow. All three were now downstairs, securing the perimeter of his closed shop or something to that effect. George wasn't certain what that entailed, but if it meant Hermione got to spend an afternoon in the real world, he'd take it.

"You explained the lab to them, right?"

George rolled his eyes. "I gave them a personal tour and they know not to touch anything they don't recognize. I'm not a professional, but I'm pretty sure that's covered the first week of training."

She smacked him on his leg. "Last time I was I in Diagon Alley, Cormon got hurt. I don't need something like that to happen again!"

"Yes, let's worry about the man who is trained to search for and fight dark wizards," he laughed.

"You know what I mean," she huffed. "I certainly don't need anything to happen today that will make Kingsley say 'I told you so.'"

George sobered immediately. "Are you sure this is a good idea, then? I mean, we're getting closer to …"

"To one of two dates that could mean my death?"

He glared at her.

"Sorry; yes, I'm sure. The N.E.W.T.s are next week and the Order of Merlin ceremony is the week after that, not to mention the possibility of an attack. To say life is stressful is an understatement."

"Most people wouldn't list those events so calmly."

"Most people don't have a team of bodyguard, plus the former head auror, watching over them 24 hours a day," Hermione pointed out. "I can't sneeze without it going into a report. I need a day with my friends."

"You'll do great on the test, you'll accept your award with grace, and we'll find a way to kick the evil wizards' asses."

"We can't settle for anything less than death, George," she told him, her face serious. "They want to bring Voldemort back; they'll try anything to do it. If I'm not the vessel, they'll find someone else who they believe can be. Eliminate them, we eliminate he threat."

George swallowed, not liking the shift in conversation. "So …" he started, desperate to make the tension in the room disappear. "Read anything good lately?"

* * *

><p>"I don't know what we're supposed to wear to the bloody ceremony."<p>

"Clothes, Ronald."

Ron glared at Hermione. "Thanks for that. I don't know how I survive without you."

She grinned and ruffled his mop of red hair.

"Actually, you'd be impressed out how well we do without your supervision," Harry laughed. "It took us awhile to remember to study without a certain someone harp –"

George started coughing.

"—I mean, encouraging – us, but we got there."

Hermione smiled. "My boys are all grown up; I'm so proud."

"Had to happen sometime," Ron grinned.

The four of them were still at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, this time on the shop's main floor, helping George rearrange a few displays. Kingsley was adamant that Hermione's day at Diagon Alley meant one location only. Normally she'd push for more, but seeing as technically she didn't win their bet, she wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"Speaking of grown up," Harry started with a significant look in Hermione's direction, "how are things with you and our esteemed Minister for Magic?"

"Ugh," Ron groaned. "I thought we agreed we weren't going to talk about this!"

Hermione was intrigued. "Talk about what?"

"Your sex life!"

"My what?!" she screeched, glaring at George.

"Don't look at me! I said nothing."

Harry rolled his eyes at the exchange. "Give us some credit, Hermione. You'd have to be deaf and blind not to recognize the sexual tension between you and Kingsley."

Ron banged his head against the counter, wishing Harry would stop talking. He assumed long ago that Hermione and Kingsley were shagging. It took some time to realize it didn't bother him. After that, he realized the pair made perfect sense. That didn't mean he was willing to sit around and braid Hermione's hair as she waxed poetic about the wizard. Wasn't that Ginny and Luna's job?

Hermione briefly thought about banging her head on the counter, too, but only if it would knock her unconscious and end the conversation.

"So you're telling me that my sex life is a topic of conversation you and Ron have often?"

Harry had the decency to blush. "Of course not! But you're our best friend. It's our job to -"

"To what? Give a man permission to sleep with me?"

"No! When we spoke to Kingsley, we didn't give him permission -"

"You spoke to Kingsley!?"

Ron smacked Harry in the shoulder. "Harry!"

"Shite," Harry muttered, looking panicked, his face turning pale as he focused on Hermione. He face was bright red. "Calm down," he started. "Yes, we talked too Kingsley, but it was not a sex talk. It was a 'We know you like Hermione and we're OK with that talk.' We were looking out for you!"

"And I'm someone who needs to be 'looked out for?'"

"Not right now," he grumbled under his breath.

George, who had been leaning against the wall, watched the exchange with interest and amusement. It wasn't often Harry or Ron felt the need to step be Hermione's protector. Judging by the terrible way in which they approached the responsibility, that was probably a good thing.

"Look," Harry said, inching slowly backward. "We're your family. Families protect each other. You're telling me if I was spending my time with an older woman and there was an attraction between us, you wouldn't talk to her?"

Hermione opened her mouth to say no, but couldn't. He was right.

Ron, noting her calmer demeanor, decided to jump into the conversation. "Right, so we gave him that talk, but then when George told us what he did at the last Order meeting, we had another meeting with Kingsley."

Hermione gasped. "You didn't!?"

"We bloody well did!" Ron growled. "I don't care who he is. When someone hurts you, we go after them. That's how this works."

"Well," Harry amended, "we go after them and then you step in and make everything better is really how it works, but it felt good to play the protectors for once."

"Don't put yourself down," Ron told his friend. "You were good. I was scared for a moment there."

"Yeah?" Harry asked, his green eyes lighting up. "I wasn't sure. I mean, after Voldemort, it takes a lot to get me worked up and I was pissed at Kingsley, but also kind of saw where he was coming from, especially when he mentioned the self-sacrifice thing."

"Yeah," Ron said, turning back to glare at Hermione. "What the bloody hell was that about?"

She watched the interchange between her best friends, her emotions flipping from horrified to touched, angry to ashamed. "What was what about?" she hedged.

"I thought we reached an agreement on the train: you do whatever Kingsley tells you to do to remain safe. You promised me!"

She took his hand. "I know I did. I was never … it was never … The thought of taking my own life to stop all of this from happening was an impulse. I dismissed it soon after I had it. Unfortunately, that's when Mr. Malfoy was peering into my thoughts and he shared them with Kingsley. But I never meant it; I swear! I would never do that to you; to any of you!"

"So you're not leaving us?" Harry asked, taking Hermione's other hand.

George watched as the three folded into one another, the anger that had them yelling at each other moments before gone as they became a large pile of arms and legs. Their voices were muffled, but he heard Hermione's voice in a soothing lilt as the two boys murmured quietly. He sometimes forgot how close the three of them were. They spent most of the past year apart after seven years together, but seeing them now, it was like no time had passed. Anyone who ended up with a member of the Golden Trio needed to understand that getting one meant getting the other two, too.

"You know," Ron said, pulling out of Hermione's arms, brushing her hair from her face in a familiar gesture. "The three of us are going to be pretty wealthy in a few weeks."

Harry shared a look with Hermione. Ron was obsessed with the financial reward that accompanied the Order of Merlin designation. They assumed he'd buy something completely unnecessary before giving the rest of his prize to his parents. That was how Ron worked.

"Yes," Hermione agreed. "Have plans for your newfound wealth?"

"Well, we could pull our funds and disappear."

Hermione laughed and hopped up on the counter, pulling her legs up so she was sitting cross-legged. "Sure. Let's run away where no one can find us."

"I'm kind of serious," Ron said, leaning on the counter so his eyes were boring into hers. "It's a big world out there. We could get lost easily. I mean, we need to take George; the man wouldn't survive without us."

"Thanks little brother," George told him.

"And Ginny. I'd hate to listen to Harry whine about missing her."

"Ha! You're more worried about what she'd do if you tried to leave her behind," Harry told him, hopping on the counter next to Hermione.

"We should ask Neville and Luna to go, too," Ron continued, not really paying attention to either of his friends. "I do not want Malfoy with us, though."

"This is getting to be a large group, Ron; not so easy to hide."

Ron ignored Hermione, his focus on weaving together a society with only his friends and loved ones. She looked at Harry, who shrugged his shoulders.

"It's his new thing," he told her. "When life gets too serious, he goes to what he calls his 'happy place.' He'll be back in a little bit."

"So he's not serious, then?"

"Not yet, but it's good to know he has a plan."

* * *

><p>It was late when he stepped through the fireplace; nearly midnight. Undoing his robe, Kingsley shrugged it from his shoulders as he climbed the stairs, wanting nothing more than a warm shower before collapsing in bed for the next six hours.<p>

"Bloody paper pushers," he muttered.

Who would have thought a day-long session with the Ministry's financial department would be more exhausting than an undercover auror assignment. The numbers started blurring before lunch. By afternoon tea, the beginnings of a migraine were drumming behind his eye. He pinched his nose to try and alleviate the pressure to no avail. He'd been offered a headache potion at the Ministry, but had refused it, not wanting to appear weak in any way.

Andromeda was right. His pride would be the death of him.

"Tough day at the office?"

Kingsley stopped in his tracks at the sultry voice, the hand that was undoing the black tie at his throat falling heavily to his side as he studied the witch reclining on his bed. Her hair was loose, the wild curls spiraling down her back. She shifted, bringing his attention to the satin maroon nightshirt she wore, the ends barely covering her thighs, the few buttons she managed to secure showing him enough of her silky smooth skin that his fingers itched to undo the rest.

"Hermione?"

She sat up, swinging her legs off the bed and rising gracefully to walk towards him, her movements slow and seductive.

"I racked my head trying to think of a way to thank you for today," she murmured, taking his tie in her hands to undo the knot. When it was loose, she dropped it to the floor, then began undoing the buttons on his shirt.

"I take it you had a good time," he replied, bringing his hands up to settle on her shoulders.

"Not as good as we're going to have," she promised, pushing the shirt off of his shoulders.

"What did you have in mind?"

The smile she gave him would make a Slytherin proud. "I think this calls for a hands-on demonstration," she told him, her hands going to the leather belt of his navy blue slacks, nimble fingers quickly undoing the clasp. "We'll begin with the oral."

And she dropped her knees.

* * *

><p>He took it back. His pride wasn't going to be the death of him. Hermione Granger was. Looking down at the woman dozing in his arms, Kingsley decided he was fine with that. In fact, he was better than fine. This witch had a power over him no woman had before. Shifting to a more comfortable position, he tightened his hold on her as she moved.<p>

"I'm crushing you," she mumbled, half-heartedly attempting to move from where she collapsed on top of him minutes before.

"Stay," he commanded in response.

He felt her breath on his chest as she sighed, hopefully in agreement, but probably in resignation. He didn't care. She came to his bed. She made him forget his horrible day with the first swipe of her tongue on his cock. She rode him until he shouted his release. He wasn't letting her go; not tonight. Moving his head to press his lips to the top of her head, he thought fleetingly that he never wanted to let her go, but sleep assailed before the idea took root in his mind.


	30. Chapter 30

**A/N: Smut with feelings. At least, that's what I was going for. Many thanks to those of you sticking with this story; your words of encouragement keep the use from disappearing completely (though her creaks have been getting longer as of late). **

* * *

><p>He turned to her in the middle of the night: dark, silent, and devastating. He didn't speak as he removed the sheet covering her naked body, his eyes darkening as they roamed over her. She watched him watch her, the emotions in his eyes making her long to touch him. She reached for him, but he captured her wrists in his large hands, kissing the palm of each hand before moving them above her head.<p>

"Keep them there," he commanded in a low voice.

She nodded, eyes wide, wondering what would come next as, once again, his eyes slowly moved down her body. Why wasn't he touching her? She needed him to touch her!

"Please," she whispered.

"Please what?" he asked, leaning down to whisper the words in her ear, his breath on her skin making her voice catch in her throat.

"Please touch me," she begged.

"Hmm … in time," he promised, his teeth nibbling on her earlobe.

"No," she protested. "Now!"

He pulled away, ignoring her groan of protest. "Why?"

She looked at him, not knowing how to answer the question. She couldn't explain the desperation coursing through her body. It felt as if she would die if he didn't put his hands on her soon.

"Answer me, love," he encouraged. "Answer me and I'll do whatever you want me to do."

She groaned at his words. Oh, how she wanted to tell him the truth, to open her mouth and say the words she longed to articulate almost as much as she was determined to keep them to herself. Did he know? Did he have any idea how much he meant to her, how every time he glanced her way, he heart actually skipped a beat? She always thought that was romantic nonsense, something writers made up to make women long for the impossible, to set their expectations so high, no man would ever meet them, but Kingsley … She loved him. She knew she did, but he wasn't hers; not to keep. Their relationship was temporary. When it ended, he would bid her good-bye as easily as she would remove his ring from her finger. If the thought of leaving him made her lose her breath that was her problem, not his. He never promised forever. She didn't want him to. She had her life in front of her while his path was decided. He wouldn't want to hold her back; she'd never let him think he did. She was going to make the best of it, to take as much pleasure from him as she could before she had to let him go.

Shifting, she pressed her chest against his, rubbed her body against his, her nipples hardening with the friction. He moaned at the contact, his hands going to her shoulders to make her stop.

"You didn't answer the question," he told her.

"Please," she whispered, her desperation growing.

"You keep saying that word," he answered, his tone light as he pressed kisses along her throat, her shoulder. "Tell me why, Hermione. Tell me why you want me, what you want me to do, and I'll do it. You know I will. You know how much I love being inside you, feeling your body swallow me as I move inside you. You are always so tight, love, so wet. I can never get enough."

He slid lower, his head moving to her breasts, his tongue darting out to take one nipple in his mouth while he used a hand to stimulate her other breast, his fingers pinching and tugging while his mouth sucked, his teeth nibbled. She groaned, arching her back to give him more. He obeyed, pulling his lips from one nipple with a loud pop before devouring the other.

"So gorgeous," he murmured. "So beautiful, so responsive. So mine."

Her heart broke at his words, wishing they were true, wishing that tonight was more than two people turning to each other for comfort.

"Kingsley," she whispered. "I need you to make love to me. Please, make me forget, just for a little bit."

He lifted his head, his gaze severe. "Do you trust me?"

She nodded.

"Do you believe me when I say I tell you nothing hurt you?"

She nodded again.

He moved quickly, his body on top of hers, pressing her deep into the mattress as he brought one hand up to grip her wrists. "Wrap your legs around me," he ordered, kissing her as she did, his tongue diving in to tangle with hers. "I'm going to take you, Hermione. You are going to hold on tight as I do and come when I tell you to. When you do, I'll slide down to your pussy and lick you clean before I take you again. While I'm doing this, I want you to talk to me. Tell me how I make you feel, what you want me to do. Do not close your eyes to me, do not stop talking. In this moment, in this bed, you are mine!"

Her heart leaped at the possessiveness of his words, at the ferocity on his face, but he slammed into her before she could reply, her affirmation coming out on a scream.

"Yes," he grunted, closing his eyes briefly at the right ness that was her body accepting his. Giving himself a moment to adjust, to appreciate what he had, he opened his eyes, determined to give her pleasure, to imprint himself on her. He moved, a steady thrust of his hips in a rhythm that had Hermione gasping in minutes. He could feel her walls tightening. Merlin, how he wanted to come! He wanted to pour himself into her, to bury himself deep and never come out. She was everything he wanted. He could admit that now. She was beautiful and intelligent and so damn brave. She didn't cower to him. She didn't back down to his stubbornness. She challenged him, this bossy little witch. She made him look beyond himself, beyond his duties. She made him feel like a man again, not just a title. She was everything he didn't know he wanted or needed in his life, and he couldn't keep her!

He bent his head and kissed her. He moved to her neck, using his teeth when he should have used his tongue, his frustration with their situation pushing him to do what he could, what she'd let him do, to mark her as his. He waited for her to protest, but she arched her neck, giving him better access.

"You're so close, baby," he whispered. "I can feel it. Come on, Hermione. Let go so I can lick you. I want to taste your excitement, to lick it all up and then make you come again. Can you do that for me, love? Please?"

She nodded urgently, unable to focus enough to form actual words. Her body felt like a million nerve endings just waiting to strike. She was on the edge, ready to jump, his voice both pushing her to the edge and holding her back. He moved deeper, his thrust so powerful, she felt as if she would split in two.

"Eyes!" he yelled, forcing her to snap hers open. He was over her, his arms on either side of her as he lifted himself to move deeper, stronger. "You will look at me; only me, Hermione. I'm the only one who gets to see you explode in pleasure. No one else; only me. Say it!"

She shook her head, trying to wrap her head around his words.

"Say it!" he repeated, his voice cracking.

"Only you," she whispered, ignoring the ache in her heart the words caused.

"What?" He thrust forward, wanting – no, _needing_ – to hear her say the words again.

"Only you," she repeated, her voice stronger.

"Say it again," he pleaded. "Merlin, please, say it again!"

"Only you," she screamed, her body exploding as he kept moving, drawing out the orgasm that ripped through her. She tightened her legs around him, desperate to hold on to something to keep her grounded.

"My girl," he whispered as he slowed down, still hard inside her. "My Hermione."

He kissed her again, but without the force he took her lips before. He was soft, tender. He worshipped her lips, licking and sucking. He slid out of her body, ignoring her whimper of protest as he did so. He was desperate to stay in her, but he made a promise. Pulling back, he smiled when she brought her hands down to cradle his head.

"Stay," she whispered.

He smiled. "Don't you remember what I promised to do after I made you come?"

For a moment, she looked confused, but then her eyes cleared and she smiled, slowly. He loved that she wasn't shy, that she knew what made her feel good.

"Remember what I said," he whispered, kissing her once more. "Talk to me while I taste you. Tell me where you want my tongue. Tell me what to do to make you scream."

He didn't break eye contact as he moved down her body, stopping at the juncture between her thighs. He could smell her excitement. He took a deep breath, anxious to taste her, but he didn't want to rush. Dragging a finger through her folds, he murmured his approval as he felt how wet she was, smiling when she lifted her hips as he explored.

"Kingsley," she moaned, her head falling back as she focused on the need building once again. "I need more."

"Tell me," he encouraged.

"Your tongue," she gasped. "I need to feel your tongue on me."

He smiled and bent his head to do as she asked, lightly licking her from slit to clit.

"Harder," she groaned, her hands coming down to clasp his shoulders.

He did had she asked, adding pressure, biting back a moan of his own as her fingers dug into his skin, her fingertips marking him as his lips did to her minutes earlier.

"That feels so good," she whispered, her breath catching as he drew her clit between his lips and sucked.

"Tell me."

Did he really expect her to keep talking? The way he was making her feel, she was surprised she could still breathe.

He lifted his head.

"Why'd you stop?"

"You stopped talking."

"Kingsley," she whined.

He dipped his head to hide his smile. "Talk to me, love."

She groaned, desperate to feel his tongue on her again. The man was evil. Pure evil.

"Talk to me," he encouraged, his breath warm on her folds, making her stomach contract.

"Lick me," she implored breathlessly. "Suck me."

He growled in response, his head going down to devour her, her moans and sighs pushing him to push her further. He needed to know how high he could make her go, how loud he could make her scream. He had to. Desolation was clawing at him, a constant reminder that every day he had with her brought them one day closer to when she'd leave him – because she _would_ leave him. He was going to get her through the next month safely so she could go on to live the amazing life she was destined to have if it was the last thing he did.

"More," she demanded, arching her back, the movement pushing her closer to his mouth. He slid his tongue into her dripping channel, and brought his hand into play, his fingers rubbing her.

"Too much," she cried, even as her hips matched his tempo. He was fucking her with his tongue, his thumb on her clit moving in the same rhythm. "That feels so good … I'm going to … please …"

He kept moving, her shivers telling him she was close. His cock was beyond hard. He was so ready to be back inside her, to pound into her willing body until he was empty. He was so hard. He couldn't remember the last time anyone made him feel this way.

"Kingsley!" she screamed, her voice echoing off the walls as he licked his way through her release, her cries continuing as she came again, her legs wrapping around his shoulders as if she was afraid he'd leave her.

"Feel better?" he asked, moving back up her body.

"No talking," she demanded, her eyes nearly feral as she pulled at his arms, desperate to have him inside her once more. "In me."

"My bossy little witch," he chuckled, eager to do as she demanded. His laughter turned into a groan as he slid inside her. She was incredibly wet. Her pussy swallowed him in one thrust, her vaginal walls clamping on his cock to hard, he could barely move. "Baby, I'm not going to last long."

She shook her head, yet another orgasm building. She saw his lips move, but couldn't hear the words over the roar in her head. Too much. Too much too fast. She was going to die. She wanted him to come with her. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her legs around his waist, and held on. Her lips moved to his shoulder, her breath coming out in heavy pants with each thrust.

"Hermione," he panted, his voice raspy. "So good, love … so good … love being in you … love feeling you … love you," he groaned just before he came, his climax coinciding with hers. He was so wrapped up in Hermione, in how she made him feel, he was unaware of what he just confessed. Rather, he collapsed on top of Hermione, completely spent. He barely has enough energy to roll to his side, taking her with him, before he succumbed to exhaustion and slept.


	31. Chapter 31

**A/N: Criticism is part of the writing process. While I love the "this is great; keep it up" comments best (who doesn't, right?), I also welcome those that ask for clarification, even when they make me wince because I made a mistake and got caught. Being held accountable isn't always fun, but it's necessary if one wants to improve as a writer. That being said, not everyone will like this story. Neither Kingsley nor Hermione are particularly likeable at times. If you don't like it, don't read it. It's as simple as that. Feeling the need to tell me repeatedly much it sucks is a bit much. You are welcome to your opinion; I don't understand the need to make others feel bad about it.**

**I wish I could just hop off the soap box to continue the story with characters I do not own, but my enthusiasm for this project is waning and I'm afraid it shows in this next chapter, so I'm stepping away from fan fiction for the time being. Thanks to all who've read my stories! **

* * *

><p>She was mumbling under her breath. Kingsley saw Jamison glance her way with a questioning look, but he shook his head slightly. She started doing it a few days ago. One moment she'd be quiet, reading something in a book or writing notes on parchment, the next she was pacing the floor, reciting formulas. Her mood shifted quicker than a golden snitch these days and he long ago stopped trying to figure it out, making himself available when she needed him and ensuring he was not around when it was quite clear she did not.<p>

They were nearly to the lift when she took his hand, her grip so tight, he could feel the loss of circulation to his fingers. He attempted to squeeze her hand in hopes that that she would take the gesture as a sign of comfort and relax her hold, but that was not to be and he winced as her hold tightened.

"Don't be nervous," he told her.

"I'm not," she replied, eyes straight ahead.

"You're ready for this."

They stopped at the lift. He slowly peeled her hand away from his, shaking it slightly. "It's two days," he told her. "Two days and then it's over."

She nodded, eyes wide, face pale. He wasn't telling her anything she didn't know. This date has loomed over her head for months. It was her future on the line; her life. She followed him on to the lift, the sound of her heartbeat echoing loudly in her ears as the lift slowly made its descent to the Ministry's third floor. She was desperate to take his hand again, but knowing she needed to project poise, confidence. She couldn't be seen grasping on the Kingsley Shacklebolt like a scared child; what would that say about her? Pasting a generic smile on her face, she took a deep breath as the door's opened.

"Hermione!"

Ginny appeared out of nowhere, a blur of red before she tackled her friend in a bone-crushing hug, unaware of the three men who drew wands on the two witches now speaking a mile a minute as they held on to each other.

"False alarm," Kingsley told Jamison and Cormon, his eyes twinkling as he put his own wand away.

Placing his hand on the small of Hermione's back, he ushered her – still wrapped in Ginny – away from the lift.

"I hate to break up the reunion, but you have 10 minutes to sign in," he told them.

They jumped apart, his words having the same effect as jumping in a cold bath. Immediately, they stopped babbling as the nerves returned. Grasping Ginny's hand, Hermione walked toward the open door, once again mumbling under her breath.

"Hermione."

She stopped, looking over her shoulder at Kingsley with an inquisitive expression.

"I have to go. Non-N.E.W.T. students aren't allowed past the doors."

She whispered something to Ginny who nodded and walked to the doors, waiting just outside, pretending she wasn't watching Hermione's approaching Kingsley with interest.

He took both of her hands in his, his fingers caressing hers in a soothing gesture. She could feel the tension melt from her shoulders as she focused on his face. His carefully-planned speech disappeared as he looked into her eyes. Swallowing, he squeezed her hands once. "Good luck."

She nodded and turned on her heel, her head tall as she and Ginny walked into the large room, the doors closing behind them.

* * *

><p>"Put the book away."<p>

Hermione reached to grab the text Draco pulled out of her hands. "Give me that!"

"I will not. We get an hour for lunch and you are going to use that time to talk to me, not cram."

She glared at the blond. "I need to study."

He rolled his eyes as he took a seat across from her. "The fact that you would say something so demented is proof that your mind cannot take any more information. Trust me; conversation is much better for the digestion than _Goblin Riots: 18__th__Century to Present_." He studied the book with a pained expression before giving her to her pleading face and pushing it across the table. "Why would anyone read this?"

"I assume that means you won't be sitting the History of Magic exam with me," she replied, tucking the book into her bag.

"And I'm bloody heartbroken about it," he said while digging through his own book bag, taking out a folder and handing it to her.

"What's this?"

"This is months of my own research into wizarding and non-wizarding universities," he paused to take a sip of his pumpkin juice. "I haven't been able to talk to you about my future plans, so I took the liberty of including your needs with mine."

"I'm sorry?"

"I need to get out of Britain," he said quietly, leaning forward so no one would hear him. "This past year … I'm lost, Granger. I don't know where I belong and I think the only way to find out is to get away from what I know. I spent years doing what was expected of me. I don't have that anymore and while I'm not complaining, it does leave my future rather blank."

"I assumed you'd work with your father."

"And I assumed you'd join Potter and Weasley at the Ministry," he shot back, noting her sheepish expression with a smug grin. "See what I mean?"

She pushed aside her plate and took a closer look at the information in the folder. "So you're thinking University?"

Draco nodded. "I've never really had the chance to develop my own interests. Luna says I need to figure out who I am."

Hermione looked up with a grin. "Luna?"

Draco rolled his eyes, not bothering to answer the question.

"This sounds great, Draco, but I don't understand what it has to do with me."

"Now I know you've overextended your brain, Granger. Think. What are your plans after graduation?"

Hermione sat back, her mind a blank. Truth be told, she hadn't given her future much thought beyond ensuring she lived long enough to have one. She glanced down at the ring on her finger, wishing for a moment it was more than a prop in the game circumstances were forcing her to play. She pushed herself outside of her comfort zone with Kingsley, hoping that by doing so, she'd somehow penetrate the shell the man kept around himself, but nothing had changed. They may be lovers, but they weren't in love. It was time to accept that.

* * *

><p>"I'm dead," Ginny moaned, laying her head on the table in utter defeat. "Tell my parents I love them. Make sure Harry finds a nice girl. Remember me fondly."<p>

"Do you think there's a chance you're being a tad overdramatic?" Hermione asked, pushing her chair back so she could stretch, that afternoon's Defense Against the Dark Arts exam more physical than she expected. She made a mental note to thank Cormon for his dueling assistance.

"Overdramatic?" Ginny screeched. "We just endured seven hours of hell – and still have more tomorrow!"

"Speak for yourself," Draco sauntered over, looked as calm and put-together as he usually did despite having spent the last 30 minutes using defensive spells against a retired auror.

"Not worried?" Hermione teased, noting the blond wizard looked as calm and put-together as he usually did.

"You wish," he smirked.

The trio walked to the door, signing their names on the parchment on the registration table before exiting the room. Cormon, as expected, was waiting in the hall. Hermione held up a finger to signal him she'd be there in a minute and turned to her friends.

"Don't let Neville spend all night talking about today's exams," she told Ginny. "If he does that, he won't sleep and will have a terrible day tomorrow. And you," she continued, turning to Draco, "leave Luna alone tonight. I know you don't care about Care of Magical Creatures, but she does. She wants to talk to Hagrid about Fire Crabs. If you insist on walking with her to his hut, you will be nice to Hagrid and not distract her when you return to Hogwarts."

"It's moments like these that make me wonder why I miss you," he said dryly.

* * *

><p>She was sitting in the middle of the library, surrounded by parchment, when Kingsley walked inside. She was wearing plaid pajama pants and an oversized red T-shirt, with her curls piled on top of her head in a messy bun. She didn't look up when he said hello, not bothering to acknowledge his presence until he reached for the cup of coffee by her side.<p>

"That's mine," she told him, taking it from his hands, her eyes never leaving the paper.

"It's cold."

"I'll use a heating charm," she muttered, still not bothering to look up.

He watched her for a minute. She was even more stressed than she was that morning. He didn't think that was possible. "Do I even want to ask how today went?"

She glanced up then, her eyes feverish. "Are you kidding me?"

"Um …"

"Today was hell. Tomorrow will be worse. If you want a play-by-play, I suggest finding a pensieve and reliving your own N.E.W.T. days."

Kingsley stood up, holding his hands out in the universal "I surrender" gesture. "Message received," he told her. "I'll be in my study. If you get hungry -"

"I know. Ask for Walter."

"Right," he said, turning to leave.

* * *

><p>Two hours passed before she knocked on his door, peeking her head inside. "May I come in?"<p>

He pushed away from his desk and waved her in, watching cautiously as she walked towards him. "I came to apologize," she said ruefully. "I've been told I get a bit intense when revising for exams."

He smiled in acknowledgement of her confession. "I might have been told the same thing once or twice in my day."

She leaned against his desk. "Is it wrong I considered walking out today?"

"I would be more scared if you told me you had a great day and were excited to repeat it tomorrow," he replied. "Are you finished for the night?"

She shrugged. "I don't think I can study anymore."

"Quick!" Kingsley said, reaching for a quill and a fresh piece of parchment. "I need to write that down for history."

"Stop it!" she cried, hitting him in the shoulder. "You're supposed to be nice to people under stress."

"Really?" he grinned, taking her arm and tugging until she was sitting in his lap. Moving his hands to her shoulders, he slowly massaged her muscles, smiling at her moan of appreciation. "What else am I supposed to do?"

"Mmm … that's a good start. Don't stop."

He kissed the top of her head. "Noted."

* * *

><p>She fell asleep in his arms. Had he been in a seductive mood, her soft snores would have been a blow to his ego, but given that his goal was to help her relax, he considered her reaction a victory as he carried her to her bedroom and tucked her under the covers. He thought about joining her, but decided against it, instead going down to the library for a drink and a few quiet moments without an obsessed-N.E.W.T. student in his presence. He wasn't surprised to see her papers and books tidied away. Even if she was a terror when studying, she was a considerate terror. Pouring himself a glass of firewhiskey, he walked to the couch, intent on doing nothing more than putting his feet up and enjoying the quiet when a folder sticking out from underneath the couch caught his eye. Leaning down, he pulled it out and flipped it open, assuming it was something Hermione needed for her exams, surprise to find it was filled with University materials instead, the dates of application deadlines and enrollment fees circled in red. He leaned forward and flipped through the papers, noting that none of the schools were located in Britain.<p>

He sat back, his firewhiskey forgotten. She was leaving. She had no intention of staying. They never discussed it, but part of him assumed they would sit down and talk about their future when it was safe to have that conversation, but apparently she already had plans that didn't include him.

_What'd you expect? She's a young witch with her entire future ahead of her._

Pushing to his feet, Kingsley put the papers back in the folder and returned it to its spot underneath the couch. It was obvious she wasn't ready to talk to him about this. He wouldn't push, no matter how much it hurt. Instead, he'd do what he could to make sure she had the future she imagined.

That's how much he loved her.


End file.
